Own Little World
by casus17
Summary: Sheppard wakes up in a world without Atlantis... and he doesn't even know it. All he knows is something's wrong, and he'll do anything to make it right. But how can he fight when he doesn't even know what he's fighting for?
1. Chapter 1

**OWN LITTLE WORLD**

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! I'm back, with this little story. Okay, not so little, but littler than usual! I know, it's been a while, but life, hey, not much can do about it. In fact, at the moment I'm in the middle of studying for an essay, a tute presentation and an article, but in true university fashion, I decided to get this done and post it – hey, everyone needs to chillax every now and then.

Um, so what do you need to know. I guess just that it's set in Season 5, early-ish... No stories you need to read before, it's not a continuation of my NCIS crossovers. Though I am thinking about another story in that arc.

Oh, and... This is NOT an AU.

**Disclaimer:** I asked for them for Christmas... I think they're still in the post... I'll let you know when they arrive, but until then, I guess they're not mine

**Warning:** Dark themes, mention of torture, whump all round... well, whump all round for Sheppard.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_A jolt surged through him, and he tensed beyond control, his teeth cracking against one another, eyes squeezed shut…_

… _Blackness…_

_A fist, a bar, bones crunching…_

… _Blackness…_

_Someone hauled him up by his armpits, and he was too weak, too sore, too exhausted and tired to do anything else but groan and slip…_

… _Back into blackness…_

_A slap, bringing him back, and the guy stood in front of him, mouth opening and closing, twisting that pale scar, but the words so distorted that they appeared like shadows in his ears…_

… _Blackness…_

_Another slap, followed by water, and he tried to stand up straighter, only he was already straight, arms high above him, toes just touching the ground, slipping, slipping in blood and slipping…_

… _Blackness…_

_Another bucket of water, and he coughed, gasped, not sure what was going on, so far beyond lucid that only one thought remained in his head…_

… _No…_

… _Blackness…_

… _No!…_

_Something cold against his temples… other cold things, attaching themselves to his head, SEARING PAIN and screaming, worse than anything he had felt yet, like something drilling... something cold but it hummed, it hummed gloriously…_

… _Blackness…_

_Another bucket of water, and another punch, grating his drumming head… Voices, still distorted, but he could sort of make out what they were saying… device… memory… confusion…_

… _No…_

… _Blackness…_

… _Light, glorious light…_

… _NO!…_

_Falling… Falling through voices, he can hear them as he zooms past… falling, and the voices are shouting… machine… breaking… crashing… losing him… _

… _Falling…_

_And something's seeping into his mind, someone, pressing against it, and he reels away, knowing that he can't… He pushes away, and suddenly all there is… is pain… pain, and shouts, and blackness growing deeper, and deeper and he tries to fight back and does, and someone screams and for the first time in a long time it isn't him…_

… "_The machine shouldn't be doing this." … "We're losing him!" … "What the hell is happening?" …_

… _Blackness…_

* * *

Something beeps, and his world is grey as he blinks once, head lolling to the side, before he slips back into the darkness, not a word, not a sound, not a sight strong enough to keep him from falling…

* * *

Again, a beep, but he doesn't open his eyes, just moans, or groans, and suddenly someone's holding his hand, and it's trembling, and he wants to comfort that hesitant touch.

"John…"

The word filters in through his ears, but even that caress of sound and rhythm isn't enough to anchor him to this world of halves, and he slips back into the pit that comforts him with its darkness…

* * *

Again, a beep, and this time the world is a darker grey, and there's someone by his bed. He can make out the shadowy shape, a human, a person, and he swears he recognises that figure, but he can't put his finger on it.

But the figure is crying softly, he thinks, or is struggling to breathe at the least. And again words filter into his head, and even though he can hear them, he doesn't know enough to know what they actually mean.

"Come on, John. You saved my life… You have to pull through… I'm so sorry."

But the darkness is pulling him, and he knows he can't go back just yet…

* * *

Again a beep, and this time he feels stronger, but still not strong enough. He moves, and someone else moves, coming into his line of sight as a hand grabs his. The world is like light, dancing across his eyes.

"John? Come on, I'm here." There's a sigh, half-relief, half-desolation. "John?"

And he slips back under….

* * *

Again, a beep, and this time John Sheppard didn't immediately feel the pull of unconsciousness. The world was dark as well, again, slightly blurry, but his eyes were open. He looked around, not moving his head, but dragging his eyes, wondering where he was, why he was here, and what the heavy thing over his mouth was. He tried to think it through, but his thoughts weren't working, like he couldn't catch them.

Feeling frustrated, his head flopped to the other side, too heavy to actually lift. The scene was different there, a window instead of a door, a figure looking out into the darkness of the night. John shifted with surprise as he recognised the man with his hands in his pocket, the man who looked so tired and stressed even with his back to Sheppard.

"Dave?" he mumbled, but with the mask on his face, and after however long asleep, his voice wouldn't work properly. The name of his brother came out as a guttural groan.

But it still managed to catch David Sheppard's attention, and he turned, the light of the moon catching the surprise and relief plastered all over his face.

"John!"

Slowly coming to grips with reality, John struggled to sit up, but before he even got halfway up, his stomach protested loudly, and he gave another groan, flopping back down. Dave only slightly aided him with a small push.

"Don't try to sit up, John," the older man ordered. "You shouldn't even be awake just yet, but you never were one for orders. No, dammit, John, keep the oxygen on."

John scowled up at him, not needing the tone when he was confused as all hell. What he needed were answers, and for those, he needed to ask questions. He pulled the mask, letting it slip under his chin when he couldn't move it any further.

"What you doing here?" he asked, his voice croaky.

Dave wasn't even looking at him anymore, searching for the button to call for the doctor. "What do you think? Your boss calls me, tells me you've been in a… an accident… I dropped everything and came to be with my little brother just in case he up and died on me."

John still didn't need the tone, but he was still far too confused to pick up on it. "Accident? What? Where am I?"

Dave seemed to notice his voice for the first time, grabbing a plastic cup from the bedside table and dunking a straw in it. "Here, so you don't actually sound like you haven't been breathing on your own for the past week." He let his little brother take a sip before snatching the cup away. But the drink was enough. Almost too much, as Sheppard felt his stomach rebel again.

Dave finally sat down, the exhaustion apparently coming back to bear. And he looked at John, a frightened smile on his face. "God, John, it's good to see you open your eyes."

And that was when John got the first inkling that something had gone terribly wrong. He went still, heart beating a little furiously, taking notice of all the niggling pains in his body, the thumping aches in his left leg and right shoulder. He swallowed.

"Where am I?" he asked, though looking around, taking in the highly-sanitized smell, the white walls… there was only one place he could be.

"Hospital," Dave told him with a sigh. "You've been in here for the past… I think it's ten days now. I don't know. You kind of loose track when your little brother's inches from dying."

"What happened to me?" Sheppard asked, frowning, voice still hoarse.

Dave looked away. "I don't know, John… If you can't remember…" He looked up, tears in his eyes. "It might be better off if you don't. I wish I didn't have to remember any of it, and I only saw the results."

Swallowing again, Sheppard made his brother look him in the eye. "Dave. What happened to me? Tell me."

Dave sighed, and closed his eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, as the older man composed himself. It didn't work: when he opened his eyes, Dave was still inches from crying. His stoic older brother… crying.

That scared John more than anything.

"I don't know much," Dave admitted. "Just what your boss told me. Or at least, just what I managed to squeeze out of him. I don't think I would have got as much if they hadn't been so proud of you acting like the suicidal hero."

"Dave," Sheppard warned. He didn't need the intro. "Please."

His brother scowled. "For crying… John, I don't think you're up to this. You just woke up. You were in a coma for more than a week, you weren't even breathing on your own."

"What happened to me?"

"You were working undercover," Dave snapped. "You and some other guy. He got found out. You'd think they would teach you how not to get caught or something." He sighed. "Anyway… he got caught, and you… you, being the stupid, reckless, selfless hero that you were through high school, you went back for him. Even managed to rescue him."

"_Come on!" Sheppard screamed, as shots came their way from within the warehouse. He gave the figure a heave, recognised the figure, but was too caught up in the rush of the escape to place a name to him. _

_The rushed out of the warehouse instead, inches from being shot, or caught, their only possible escape off this –_

His head gave a solid thud and he winced away from the memory, and from thinking, tuning back into his brother.

"… got caught." Dave continued, and John realized he had lost track of where he was. He didn't say anything, but hoped he could catch up without asking too many questions. Dave sighed. "Only you could pull off a spectacular rescue and still manage to get caught yourself."

John went cold. He knew what that meant. "How long did they have me?" he asked. Who they were, he still wasn't sure, but if he was undercover… and they had caught him rescuing someone else…

"Four days," Dave sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I got the call after two. Your boss said you were missing, and I should get here as soon as I could. I've never been so frightened, John."

Which was a big admission for him. Sheppard shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry."

Dave laughed, obviously not meaning to and just as obviously unsure of what else he could do. "Sorry? Right. You know… John… God, sorry just doesn't cut it sometimes. I got here as soon as Carter called to tell me they'd found you. Told me to get here, cause it wasn't looking good. I saw you, dammit!" He stood up, tracing a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. "You were covered in blood, it was everywhere. I had no clue what had happened to you! What you'd gone through… but you're damn lucky you don't remember it, John, cause no one should go through that much suffering."

He turned back, hands on his hips. "The bastards _tortured_ you, John. So no, you don't just get to say sorry. Dammit, why don't you ever think of yourself! After… after what happened between us last year, what if you'd died, and the last thing I said to you was to get out?"

"Dave…" Sheppard tried, feeling tired and old all of a sudden. Tortured. He tried not to shiver. No, he didn't want to remember that. Ever. "Please… just sit."

Dave sighed but did as he was asked. Sheppard swallowed, realizing he should probably put the oxygen mask back on.

"Dave, it's okay. I didn't die." He licked his lips and tried to suck in a deep breath. "And what happened… it happened, okay? There's not much we can do about it now."

Dave just glared at him. "I doubt you'll be getting out of here any time soon," he began. "But when you do, you're coming home with me. No, John, no arguments. I don't care what you say. You're coming home and living with me until you're cleared for duty again."

"Or until you get sick of me," John told him, gasping slightly, hands fumbling for the oxygen mask.

Dave sighed again. He was getting good at that. "That's not going to happen. And if it does, I'll just have to see you limping about the house to be reminded exactly why you're there." He paused, watching his brother struggle with the oxygen mask. "See, John, it's not like you can take care of yourself anyway," he snapped, though there was no harsh emotion behind it. It was just Dave's way. He grabbed the mask and slipped it back on for John. "I told you not to take it off."

Not able to speak through the mask, John settled for a glare. Dave just glared right on back, before standing up. "Just sit tight – I know, it's not like you're going anywhere. I'm just going to find out what happened to that doctor I paged. I'll be right back, kay."

He left before John could respond, but it wouldn't have mattered if he had been able to scream, shout and wave his arms. Dave was downright pig-headed when he was in this mood.

Sheppard sighed, and leaned back, looking towards the window his older brother had been staring out of not half an hour ago. The lights of the city burned bright, and John smiled, glad to see it. Glad to see the skyscrapers, the way the city never seemed to grow dim even at night, the sounds, even from this height, of cars and traffic, horns and trucks.

New York might have been a hell of a place to live, but it was his place, and he wouldn't swap it for anywhere else.

* * *

So... intrigued? Bored? Meh? See you tomorrow night, because I'm going to get some sleep!

See you tomorrow night... unless the Athenian Empire sucks me into oblivion - a distinct possibility!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Okay, so as far as I can tell, Ancient Athens hasn't pulled me into oblivion. But the night is still young... OKay, it's 1:30... but I'm going to be studying for a while yet... tell me again why I go to Uni?

Anywho, enough with the complaining. Thanks everyone for the awesome reviews. I'll try to reply individually, seeing as you took the time to review individually, but no time at the moment, got an essay to write!

But seeing as we're procrastinating, here's chapter 2!

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Dave didn't let anyone see him for three days. Sheppard's older brother stuck to his side like he was afraid his little brother would die the moment he left. The doctors ended up chasing him away on the third day after John had woken up because Dave hadn't seen proper sunlight in two weeks.

Sheppard watched him go with a small smile before settling back to sleep. He was still tired, but he was getting better, breathing without the mask now, and the headaches had steadied to a dull pain in his forehead that he could ignore if he wanted to.

But he still had a long way to go to recover, and he knew it. He just wasn't looking forward to the long road ahead.

"Is that demon of a brother gone?"

Sheppard's eyes flew open, and he would have jumped a foot in the air if his entire body hadn't been incapable of it. A man, tall and stocky with a balding head, stood at the door, searching the room, apparently for Dave, looking mock fearful.

Sheppard smiled and nodded, leaning back, easing his bound shoulder onto the pillow. "The doc kicked him out, Carter," he answered. "It's safe."

Sheppard's boss walked in, looking comfortable in his usual suit pants and shirt. He also looked happy, and relieved, but he wasn't the sharing kind; he kept his emotions tightly reined, providing a face of energy instead of whatever he was really feeling. Head of Sheppard's unit, he was used to dealing with bureaucracy. But obviously he had met his match in Sheppard's bossy older brother.

"Bastard kept me out of the room for three days." Carter shook his head as he took Dave's vacated chair. Relaxed, he swung his feet up to rest on the end of Sheppard's bed. "How you feeling?"

"Better," Sheppard answered. "Though I still have no idea what happened. No one's telling me anything."

Carter slowly sobered up. "Yeah… Hoped you'd not want to talk about it."

Sheppard chuckled darkly. "Don't worry, I don't." He shook his head. "Not exactly the best moment of my career."

Carter pulled his legs down and sat up straighter, elbows on his knees. "You're wrong there, Sheppard. You saved McKenzie's life. O'Neill wants to give you a medal."

Sheppard stopped at that. "He what? He never gives anyone a medal. Besides, I don't want it."

Carter grinned. "Didn't think you would. Don't worry, it won't be until you get out of here, at least. But you deserve it, Sheppard. You saved McKenzie's life, and you practically brought down that entire drug ring single-handedly."

"Give me a break," Sheppard snapped, sitting up straight himself. "I got caught. Dumbest move ever. I nearly died because of it."

Carter seemed to flinch. "No need to remind me, Sheppard," he told the younger man harshly. "I was there when we rescued you. I was there when they broke into your cell and saw you unconscious in the same chair you'd been sitting in, without stop, for three days. Smelt the shit, the piss, saw the blood. I was there when they dragged you out of that chair, and it sent you into shock, and they had to give you CPR. I was there -."

"Stop."

Sheppard's voice was quiet, insistent, but his heart was beating hard, fast, and he knew he had gone pale.

Carter obeyed, looking a bit guilty. "Sorry. But… you're not only one of my best undercover cops, you're one of my best friends, John. Finding you like that… that you're even alive is a miracle."

"Can we talk about something different?" John asked, looking away and fiddling with his sheets. "How is McKenzie?"

"Physically, he's fine. He's already out of hospital." Carter looked down. "But he saw you when you came into hospital as well, and… he's feeling guilty. They only had him for a few hours, half a day tops, but he's feeling bad that you got caught rescuing him."

"It wasn't his fault," Sheppard retorted, shrugging slightly. "And this topic isn't really that different."

"When can you get out of here? Get back to reality?" Carter asked. Sheppard just shook his head.

"Who knows? Soon, I hope, but I think I'll be in here a while. A few weeks, at least, probably more if Dave has his way."

"Speaking of the brother from hell," Carter muttered, standing up. "I better get going before he gets back. I just wanted to see how you were."

Sheppard grinned. "You can tell the team I'll be back to work before they know it," he told Carter, knowing they would have been annoying the boss to get in and find out. Carter just shook his head.

"Don't rush it, Sheppard. If anyone deserves a bit of time off, it's you. And not just cause of this. I'll see you later." He turned and aimed for the door, feet shuffling slightly as he ran into Dave as he was coming in. "Oh, hey Dave."

Sheppard could feel the anger bubbling away under Dave's surface, but he just ignored it. To his surprise, the other man didn't say anything either, just dumped a duffle bag on the bed.

"I brought you some of your own clothes," Dave told him quietly. "Thought they might be more comfortable than hospital clothes."

"Thanks," he replied, sitting up straighter and wincing at the pull on his ribs. "Have the docs said anything to you about when I can get out of here?"

"John, don't rush this!" Dave snapped. "Christ, can't you sit still and recover, for five minutes?"

Sheppard looked at him with wide eyes. "Over reaction much? I was just asking."

The older man sighed. "I know. And no, they haven't. Probably not any time soon." He sat down heavily in Carter's vacated seat. "Just… relax, John. You've been through a terrible ordeal, and your body is not going to heal itself overnight."

John managed a grin. "You know I can't sit still."

Dave smiled with him, though it was a lot sadder. "Trust me, I do know. But you'll just have to get used to boredom, and sitting. Just let me do what needs to be done, and you just take care of getting better."

John's grin faltered, and he frowned slightly. Once again, Dave copied him. "What?"

"Nothing," Sheppard said with a shake of his head. "It's just… I didn't expect… after last year… I just didn't think…"

He couldn't say it, but Dave got the picture anyway. A look of hurt flashed across his face, but he looked down before John could watch him squash it. "I know. And I'm doing what I can to change that. Trust me. I've only got your best interests at heart." He coughed and then got to his feet. "Anyways, I'm going to go harass your doctor again, see what's up."

John watched him go, not letting the frown slip. They hadn't been talking for so long. Hell, it felt much more than a year had gone by since that argument on Dave's front door.

And now here he was, dependable big brother. Only, David Sheppard had rarely been someone John could depend on, far more interested in girls, school, cars… anything else that would mean he didn't have to spend time with his little brother.

And John had been fine with that. He had accepted that no matter how much Dave loved him, their shared blood was just about the only thing they had in common.

But now here Dave was, ready and willing to hold him up in what would be the hardest few weeks, possibly months of John's life.

And it just didn't feel right.

_

* * *

_

The voices were distant, like shadows, whispers on the wind that he could capture if he struggled. And they were worried, panicked, anxious. And he didn't know why.

_Tell me what's going on!_

_He wasn't sure where they were, or who. Everything was darkness, it was all encompassing, but for some reason it did not scare him. He thought he should be scared. But all he felt was tired._

_We don't know! The machine… just not worki-… The voices dropped in and out, and he tried to shift, tried to moan, tried to do anything but just sit – or was he laying? Swinging? Was he swinging in the darkness? Was he moving, breathing, talking, screaming?_

_This is not happening! Tell me this is not happening!_

_Well it is, and we don't have a clue. All we know is that this shouldn't be happening, but it is – it was happening, he knew it was happening, really happening, and suddenly he tried to shift again, jerked in his ropes? Irons? Whatever it was that was stopping him from moving, and around him was suddenly silence._

_He's not… is he _aware_, Vaiko?_

_I'm not sure. He could be. But he's trapped._

_He was trapped. Yes, he was, and suddenly that fear came alive, as he felt the crushing force around, no, in his head, in his head, squeezing hard, pressing down all around him, and he jerked again, struggled against whatever was holding him down, inside his mind, just pushing and pulling until he could bear it no more, and he screamed, the agony more than he could –_

"Detective! Detective Sheppard, wake up! John!"

Sheppard bolted upright, panting, before crying out with the pain in his ribs and shoulder. He fell back to the bed, gritting his teeth as his body throbbed. The doctor who had been trying to wake him stood upright, taking a breath of relief and even managing a smile.

"Must have been some nightmare," the man exclaimed, as he pulled his stethoscope off his shoulders.

Sheppard began to nod, then paused. "I… I guess." He rubbed his face with his good hand and tried to relax. "Can't remember."

"Well, that might be a good thing." The doctor shrugged. "Even if you don't remember, I can guess what the nightmare was about."

"Being tortured," Sheppard answered bluntly. "Don't worry, Dr Jackson, I'm guessing the same thing." He tried to get onto one elbow, looking at the man in all seriousness. "Doc, I need to know what they did to me."

Jackson blanched, taking a step back. "I don't think you're ready for that, Detective."

"Doc, come on."

Sheppard struggled upright; it was hard with only one working shoulder and sore everything else, but he managed. He even managed a scowl at the stocky man who was making him whole again. Physically at least.

"It's been nearly a week," he reasoned with a lick of his lips. "And I need to know sooner or later. I mean, I can guess some of what happened but… I really need to know what those bastards did to me."

Dr Jackson scowled down at him. "Your brother requested -."

Sheppard was getting sick of that type of answer. "Well, my brother's not here," he snapped, cutting the doctor off. "And I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

The doctor studied him for a moment, and then sighed. "It's not just your brother, Detective Sheppard. I'm worried about your mental stability. You haven't been sleeping properly. And you just went through a terrible ordeal."

"Trust me, I'm aware of that," Sheppard told him. "But I need to know."

Jackson sighed. "Fine. But it's a long list." He held up one hand and counted off his fingers. "Broken collarbone, dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, broken wrist, broken fingers…" He paused, studied Sheppard for a minute, before holding up the other hand. "Broken leg, dislocated knee, fractured ankle, all on the one leg… when you arrived here, you also had severe internal bleeding, severe concussion, and severe bruising. You spent twelve hours in surgery. We had to restart your heart four times, on top of the two times in the ambulance. You've had irregular heartbeat, infection, and all sorts of bugs running about your systems."

Sheppard swallowed as the man came to a pause. He nodded slowly. "You were right," he muttered. "That is a long list." Maybe he had been better off not knowing. "When can I get out of here?"

Jackson's jaw dropped. "Get out of… Did you just hear a word I said?"

"No, I ignored every little detail about my own broken body," Sheppard snapped. Then felt guilty about it. "I'm not good with hospitals, doc."

"I noticed," the man replied dryly. "And for your information, you probably won't be out of here any time soon. And even after you're released, you'll be back a lot for rehab. You've got a long road to recovery, Sheppard, and it isn't going to be easy."

John grinned wryly. "Trust me, I'm aware of that too."

* * *

What's on your mind, John?"

Sheppard looked up from his wallet, and studied the psychologist. The shrink. He was about as good with shrinks as he was with hospitals. He shrugged, and then regretted it as his collarbone and shoulder complained.

"Things," he answered honestly, taking the cards out of his wallet one by one and studying them. "My memory. Dave's sudden motherly side. When I'm getting out of here. How long it's going to take me to recover."

"You still haven't remembered anything from your captivity?" the woman asked. What was her name? John couldn't remember. Didn't really care either.

"Flashes," he told her. "Just before I fall asleep. I get flashes. A fist coming my way. Pain." He chuckled humourlessly. "Always pain. Other small details."

She cocked her head, and her auburn hair fell over her shoulder. "You seem awfully calm about it."

He only just avoided shrugging again, and instead tossed his wallet to the side of the bed. "Like I said, I can't remember most of it. And the bits I do remember… they don't feel like they happened to me. I mean, I see them, and I feel them, but it's like someone else is taking the hits."

"That's not unusual," she told him, flicking her dark brown hair back down her back. Sheppard frowned, staring at her. Something was – . "A sense of disconnection with what happened to you is your brain's way of healing itself."

He shook his head, ignoring the voice in his head that said something was wrong. Then he stared down at his lap. "And the fact that I still feel it?" he asked quietly. "The fact that everything seems surreal, and fake, like I could reach out to touch it, only for it to all disappear?"

He looked up at her as she smiled gently. "Still not unusual," she told him. "What you went through, John… nobody should have to go through that. All these things you're feeling, they are normal. I promise you. Your body, and your brain, is just trying to cope after everything they went through. It will take time, but I swear you will once more feel connected." Her smile faltered slightly, and she sighed, putting down her pen and pad. "You just went through a terrible ordeal, John… try not to rush your recovery."

* * *

When Dave came to visit him that afternoon, John was rifling through his wallet again. His brother frowned as he walked in, dumping another bag of John's things on the end of his bed as he swung his body into a seat. "What the hell are you doing, John?"

Sheppard looked up at his brother, and frowned. "Looking for something," he muttered for an answer, searching once more. Dave's eyebrow rose.

"For what, exactly?"

Sheppard shook his head, and finally tossed the wallet aside again. It was useless. He must have lost it. "My pilot's licence," he answered. "I can't find it anywhere."

A look of panic crossed Dave's face so quickly that Sheppard almost swore he had imagined it. But he knew. He knew he hadn't.

"Your… pilot's licence?" Dave asked slowly, standing up. "John, you feeling okay?"

"Fine," Sheppard told him with a roll of his eyes. "Or as fine as I can be when I'm stuck in this bed twenty-four-seven." He took in Dave's worry, and then frowned. "Why?"

"John, you don't have your pilot's licence," Dave told him; that worry on the older man's face deepened when Sheppard's frown did. "John… you're afraid of flying."

"Oh… right. Of course," Sheppard muttered, looking down at his hands. Now that Dave mentioned it… the thought of being up in a plane… It did kind of scare him. Surely that was the sensation in his gut. Fear. "Right. Sorry."

Dave was silent for a moment, and then he shook his head. "I'm going to see the doctor," he told his little brother. "See how you're going in medical terms."

"Real subtle, Dave," Sheppard muttered as his brother left. On his own, John just laid down on his back, frowning at the ceiling. He was afraid of flying? Was he? It just… didn't sound right. It didn't feel right.

Besides. If he was afraid of flying, why did he have dreams of doing it every time he closed his eyes?

* * *

Hmmm.... Interesting...

See you tomorrow night!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! Just a little thankyou again to everyone who reviewed! So many people don't take the time to do it, but it means so much... it gives you this warm tingly feeling inside... or is that just the essay I'm avoiding... hmm... either way, thank you!

**

* * *

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**Chapter 3**

The wheelchair, with Dave at the helm, did put a dampener on the whole freedom thing.

But considering one leg still refused to take his weight, and Dave was being all mother hen towards him, he didn't really have much choice about it.

Besides, he figured it was a small price to pay for seeing the outside world again. Even if it was only for the journey to Dave's house.

The nurse had left them at the doors of the hospital, and Dave had taken over driving the wheelchair. John had just leaned back and taken a deep breath, relishing that it didn't taste sanitary. Behind him, his brother chuckled.

"Don't get used it," Dave warned. "You're going to be stuck in my house for a while. At least until you can use crutches."

"Won't take me that long," John promised, spotting Dave's car nearby. "And then I can get back to my own place. And you'll be the one heaving a sigh of relief."

Dave didn't answer, just pulling the wheelchair to a halt beside his car. "I just have to move the seat back," he explained, grinning slightly. "Don't go anywhere."

John gave him a wry look, but leaned back, shifting the arm held tight by a sling. It was irritating him already, and the urge to race in the wheelchair was powerful enough that he knew he could easily convince himself that he could do so with one working arm.

He gave a small grin at his own thoughts, before looking around as Dave took his time adjusting the passenger seat of the car. The car park was pretty busy, the hospital a revolving door of ins and outs, of patients and –

His smile turned around, as he spotted the only person standing still in the entire car park. The only person standing still, and staring at him.

It wasn't anyone he recognised, anyone he knew. At least, he didn't think so. But the man, tall, thin, a long scar visible on his cheek, and in dirty, unkempt clothes, was staring at him with the type of scowl usually only reserved for people you knew. People you knew, and who were getting on your nerves.

He stood out like a sore thumb, yet people just continued moving around him, never looking, never staring, as if he wasn't even –

"John!"

Sheppard jumped, and turned to look at his brother. Dave had a deep look of worry on his face, car keys in one hand. As John turned to look at him, the older brother glanced at the dirty man, and then back. "What are you staring at?"

John glanced back. "Don't you -." But the man was gone. He trailed off, and gave a slight shake of his head. "Nothing. Nothing."

He looked back at Dave, still frowning. The other Sheppard was looking anxious, as if he had wheeled his little brother out too soon. "Are you okay, John?"

"Yeah," John answered, trying a small smile. "Yeah, course I am. Just tired."

"Maybe you should lay down when we get home, then," Dave suggested as he moved back behind the wheelchair. He pushed it towards the passenger side. "The doc said you needed lots of rest."

"I know," John told him, putting his foot out to stop the wheelchair. "But what he doesn't know, won't hurt him." And he grabbed the side of the door frame, put his good foot on the ground and heaved himself upright. "And there's no way in hell you're lifting me into the car," he told his brother through gritted teeth.

He ignored Dave's half-annoyed, half-bemused look and pivoted on his foot, nearly losing his balance once. To Dave's credit, he only just flinched to help, but restrained himself as John collapsed back onto the seat, trying not to breath too heavily and give himself away. He grinned up at his brother. "See. Easy as. Come on, let's get going."

"Uh huh," Dave remarked dryly. "Let's see you get out then."

But he left it at that, and moved around to the trunk, folding up the wheelchair as he went. John just dragged his legs into the car and swivelled on the seat.

A blur caught the edge of his vision, and he turned slowly to look, knowing exactly what he would find. And sure enough, the dirty, out-of-place man was standing there, still, ignored and staring at him. No, it was a different man; same clothes, but a different man. And this time the scowl was replaced by a look of guilt, a guilt more intense than anything he had seen on Dave so far. And then his mouth moved in a whisper, and even though Sheppard couldn't hear him over the distance, the words sent chills down his spine.

John was quiet on the ride home, and it was obvious Dave was worried by it. But the older man said nothing until they pulled into the driveway of his house. At which point John gave a small chuckle. "I can't believe this place looks exactly the same."

Dave grinned at him. "You know me, John. Would I ever be bothered to change anything?"

"Guess not," John agreed, opening the door. "You getting my wheels?"

Within five minutes they were inside, and Dave had pushed him to the spare bedroom. "Now don't get mad," the older man said gravely, hand on the door. "But I pulled some of your things out of storage."

Suddenly nervous, John stared up at his brother. "Like what?"

Dave shrugged. "You'll see." And he pushed open the door and rolled the wheelchair in. John's jaw dropped.

Dave hadn't just pulled some things out of storage. In fact, if John hadn't known better, he would have said the room looked exactly like his childhood bedroom, right down to the placement of the bed, in the corner, and the arrangement of photos on his drawers.

"Dave," John breathed, not sure exactly what to say as he rolled over to the drawers. "This is…"

He wanted to say weird. It was on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to say weird, and strange, and most of all, he wanted to say wrong. Not the gesture, no. The act in itself. He knew his brother. And David Sheppard didn't get all sentimental, not even for his own brother.

"You don't like it?" Dave asked suddenly, obviously reading his brother's emotions.

"No!" John cried. "God, no, I do. It's just… I can't believe you kept all this stuff."

That wasn't exactly what he wanted to say either, but it was true. He tried to wrap his head around it, tried to give himself time, and stared up at the photos.

"Yeah, well…" Dave was apparently speechless as well. "I wanted you to feel at home. I wanted it to feel right."

Sheppard didn't mention that home had never really felt right, and continued staring up at the photos. Most were of his family, his mother, and father, a few cousins. One of him and Dave at Dave's graduation. Some from school. He looked at them all fondly, remembering the good times, and the bad.

And then he spotted one at the back, and for the second time that day, his smile turned into a frown. "What's this one?" he asked, grabbing it, stretched over the others to reach for it.

"What one?" Dave asked, frowning as he came over.

John wasn't sure. It was of him, and three other people. He thought it was three. The image seemed blurry, but he was sure he could make out two men and a woman sitting around him. And that blue, it looked like ocean, looked out upon from a balcony. And if he looked really hard, he could even make out the odd clothes they were wearing. Matching. Like uni-

He jumped as Dave snatched the photo from his hands, frowning down on it. "You mean senior year?" he asked, looking worried. "Last football match or something, right?" The other man's frown deepened. "The doctor did say you might have amnesia about some other things." Dave shrugged and handed the picture back. "Hopefully all that will come back."

"Yeah," John murmured, looking down at the picture again. Sure enough, it was a football match. Him, two of his friends, and one of their girlfriends, backs turned to the arena. He put it back up on the drawers and turned to Dave. "So, what have you got to eat in this place? I'm starved."

Dave chuckled, and the worry was gone, just like that. "Come on, the kitchen's this way. I'll make you a sandwich or something. I thought tonight we could order in Chinese or something. There's this great place…"

Dave continued to talk, but John ignored him, trying desperately not to stare back at the drawers, and the photo on top. Because whatever was in that picture now, he knew he had seen an ocean, and sun, and three people who's faces were blurred. And they had all been wearing matching uniforms. A uniform that was not police blues.

Yet for the life of him, he could not remember ever wearing any other type of uniform.

_

* * *

_

The sun glinted off the perfectly white snow, threatening to blind him if he looked too closely. But with his aviators on he was untouchable, even by the sun. And by anything else in this distant corner of the planet, at this altitude, flying the chopper towards a mysterious destination.

_There was someone sitting next to him, but they were a blurry figure, indescribable, silent, unmoving. John thought they should have been talking – something about snakes and birds? – but they just flew in the quiet of the Antarctic wasteland. _

_Everything out the front window seemed eerily real, as if he could just reach out and touch it. The cold caressed his nose and cheeks, but his jacket held it off the rest of his body. The joy stick felt like an extension of his hands, the machine around him just an extension of his mind, like it could read his mind and act appropriately._

_And that feeling in his gut. That felt more than right. That felt as if he should be doing nothing else, nothing except flying through the atmosphere, through the empty space between land and nothingness. There was nothing more right in the world._

_All at once, it changed._

_The helicopter began beeping at him, and a voice, deep and wrong, shouted worry at him. The words were incomprehensible, but it was enough to turn that feeling of right in his stomach to a feeling of horror. And he looked up to see the sun, before just a shape in the sky bouncing off the snow, now hurtling towards him, chasing him through the sky with a mind of its own._

_And Sheppard could do nothing, panic stripping him of all sense and rationality. He just threw up his arms in a lame attempt to shield his body from the impact, squeezing his eyes shut as if that could stop anything at all._

_The chopper slammed into the ground, and sand erupted all around him, mixing in with the glass of his shattered window._

_He groaned, and let his arms drop to the ceiling. The ceiling that was now below him. His body moved of its own accord, his hands moving to the straps holding him off the ceiling. He unclipped them, and then grunted as his bruised body hit the ground, wincing as sand got in a wound on his forehead. _

_He crawled out of the ruined helicopter, trying to blink away the dizziness. He rolled over, looking up into the clear blue sky, gasping for breath. His side was burning, and he grabbed at it, his hand sliding in blood. But he couldn't stay here. He had to get up, he had to keep going. He wasn't sure why, but he clung onto that one thought screaming in his head, and rolled over onto his stomach, looking up into a shimmering blue. _

_Feet stepped into his path, and hands grabbed his arms, and he shouted something out, words that didn't make any sense, as more feet ran towards the shimmering blue. "Shut it down!"_

_And the hands on his arms picked him up, hauled him up and back, slamming him into the chair. The shimmering blue disappeared, leaving him blind for a moment. And when his vision repaired, he was staring at a wall, and his entire body hurt._

_He gasped through the pain, tried to breathe through the blood lingering in the back of his throat. His head dropped, his neck too tired to hold it up, and he just breathed._

_Time grew vague, and words filtered towards him. He lifted his head, blinking through the blood dripping down his eyes, looking up at the two blurry figures in the room with him. _

"_I don't think he knows anything."_

_The voice was desperate, worried, anxious. The next was far from it._

"_He knows. He knows something."_

"_But he hasn't said a word about Atlantis!" There was a pause. "It's been four days. No one's ever lasted four days before."_

"_He's different. I know he knows something." The voice was cold, and dark, and angry. "And I don't care what it takes, I'm going to know what he knows."_

"_He's not going to crack."_

"_He will…" The man gave a small chuckle. "With what I'm going to do to him…"_

_The words faded away, and he looked up, the silence pounding in his ears. Everything seemed to stop, and the man with the dark, angry voice turned his head slowly, and it wasn't a man anymore, but a white monster, with long hair and slitted cat's eyes, staring deep into his own, suddenly from only millimetres away._

"_Are you aware, Sheppard?" the creature demanded, its voice deep and throaty, its eyes never dropping from John's._

_And then it slammed its hand down on John's chest, and it laughed as he screamed, throwing his head back, only catching one last glance of the room around him and catching sight of a dirty, thin man looking with a guilty - _

John bolted upright, groaning hard as his ribs pulled, and his shoulder complained at the sudden movement, but he barely noticed as he scrabbled at his chest, desperate to remove the clawed hand stuck to his chest.

It wasn't there of course, it had all been a dream, but it took him a few frantic moments to realise it, to become aware of his surroundings. Even then his heart pounded with the fear left by the odd dream, by the white monster with its cat's eyes. But he tried to slow his breathing with the knowledge that it had all been a dream. A very weird dream, no doubt fuelled by the medicine he was still taking, but a dream nonetheless. Now if only he could convince his heart of that.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes to remove the grit of sleep. He wasn't about to go back to sleep. Not tonight.

He stood up on a shaky leg, reaching out for his crutches, not even sparing a glance for the discarded wheelchair in the corner. He needed a drink. The dream had left his mouth dry, as if he had really been in the searing heat of the desert.

He hobbled his way towards the kitchen, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want to wake Dave. The man was slightly overbearing in his need to do everything for his little brother.

He left the lights off, using only the moon to make his way over to the tap. His hands shook slightly as he poured a glass of water. And as he drank, his thoughts turned back to the dream.

It wasn't the first weird dream he had had since leaving hospital. But it had been the most memorable. It had felt so real, so lifelike, almost like a memory. Except he had never been to Antarctica, or the desert. Afghanistan. That desert had been Afghanistan.

Yet if he had never been there, how could he know that.

He put the empty glass down and frowned. Had he been there? He didn't think he would forget memorable trips like that.

And that wasn't the worst part. What had been that shimmering blue? It had been beautiful, yet it had filled him with dread. Why had flying filled him with such joy when he was supposedly terrified of it? And what had those men been talking about? Had that been a memory? Had he finally remembered something from that dark time?

He hoped not.

He shook his head, his hands shaking again. This wasn't doing him any good. He poured himself another glass, grabbed one of the crutches leaning against the sink and began to hop his way back to his room.

He paused halfway there, noticing something he hadn't seen before. A map. Before he could stop himself, he turned to look at it, frowning. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. It was huge, covering nearly the whole wall. And at the bottom, a picture of Antarctica.

Without thinking, he balanced himself and reached out with the bottom of the crutch, touching a place softly, an island off the coast of ice, directly below Australia. Then, still frowning, he let the crutch trace the map slowly southwest, towards the pole. It stopped about half way. There was something there. Something important.

He just didn't know what.

He sighed, and brought the crutch back to the floor, taking a sip of water. And once again a vision of the white monster flashed in his mind, laughing and, if he hadn't known any better, sucking the life out of him with its hands.

And he whispered one word. "Wraith."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Yep, it's that time of the night again. When I feel a sudden urge (okay, not so sudden, it's been there all night...) to procrastinate, and come here instead! When I reward all my hard work by rewarding you guys for being such awesome readers and sticking with this! So, yayness all around!

Hmm, that might be the codral cold and flu talking... or the nearly finished essay... might explain the weirdness...

Hmm, might just head into the chapter...

**

* * *

**

Chapter 4

When Dave woke up early the next morning, John was in the lounge room on his laptop. Dave frowned at him as he plonked into the armchair opposite the couch John was sitting in, resting his broken leg.

"What you looking at?" Dave asked, curiosity outweighing any morning bouts of politeness.

"Good morning to you too," John muttered, looking up with a grin to dispel any snap in his words. "The coffee should still be pretty hot, if you want some."

"God I'm glad you're a morning person," Dave replied, getting up again and moving to the kitchen.

John turned back to his computer, clicking on the map to enlarge again as he took a sip of his own coffee. After his dream last night, Antarctica had him fascinated. Hell, he'd already searched through a map of Afghanistan, seeing if anything jogged his memory. It hadn't, and he was feeling stupid for even looking in the first place, because there was no way he had been to Afghanistan.

Just like there was no way he had been to Antarctica, but that wasn't stopping him from searching the continent.

Dave came back with a steaming mug of coffee, obviously enjoying it this early in the morning, sniffing it in anticipation.

"So. Good morning. What are you looking at?"

John shifted uncomfortably, taking a drink of his coffee to avoid answering the question. "I was just checking some emails, looking at some things. It's been a while since I could just peruse the internet."

Dave nodded understandingly. "How long have you been up?"

He knew. Of course he knew. "Couple of hours," he admitted. "Weird dreams."

"I've heard antibiotics can do that to you," Dave agreed, leaning back. On the screen, John found where the spot where he knew the American base was. McMurdo. That was its name. "But was it bad enough to not go back to sleep?"

"Yes," John told him firmly. "But I'd rather not talk about it."

Slowly, he began tracing the same path he had with his crutch the night before, searching hard, looking for anything… anything he recognised. He couldn't believe he was doing it, but he was.

"Your choice. You have rehab today, yeah?"

"Yeah," John told him not really paying attention. He stopped the mouse on some random spot, trying not to frown as he found nothing. There was meant to be something. He looked up at Dave. "You still dropping me off before you head to work?"

"If you want," Dave agreed, getting up. "But you'd better be ready this time. I have a busy day ahead of me." He walked over and looked at the computer. "Antarctica?"

"Uh… yeah," John muttered, wondering if he could talk to his brother about this. About what he was feeling. How he was feeling. "Last night I…" No, he couldn't say that. He gave a frustrated sigh and poked a finger at the screen. "There's meant to be something here." A dome something, but he didn't mention that. Dave's frown was deep enough as it was.

"What do you mean?" Dave asked, leaning down. "What kind of something?"

"I don't know." John shook his head. "Just… something. A building of some kind."

"What, like a station? Like McMurdo?"

"No, that's here," he muttered, pointing to the American station. "Just… something else."

"What? A resort?" Dave chuckled. "You planning a holiday already?"

It was meant as a joke, even if it wasn't very funny, and John chuckled along with his brother as the man walked out of the lounge room.

But his laugh died pretty quickly as his brother disappeared, and he sighed, looking back at the computer with frustration.

"Sure I haven't already been there?"

* * *

Carter was waiting for him when he got out of rehab that day.

He hadn't been expecting it. Not at all. Especially considering he had skipped out on his shrink session. But there was his boss, shaking his head as if he had known all along that John would shirk his brother's orders.

He hobbled over to the sedan, grinning at Carter's grin. "I knew I wouldn't be waiting here long," the older man decided. "You are unbelievable John."

Some of John's own grin turned to suspicion. "Dave didn't send you, did he?"

Carter chuckled. "Technically yes. He may have mentioned that I should make sure you attended a certain session with a certain person with a degree in psychology. But I have a surprise for you instead." He nodded at his car and opened his door. "Get in."

The halls of the police station looked oddly unfamiliar. Like he hadn't been there in a long time. Which he guessed he hadn't. He had been on assignment, after all, deep undercover in one of the most notorious organised drug rings in the city. Going into a police station, not in handcuffs, might have blown his cover.

But he guessed he had done that well enough himself. But he wasn't here to think about that. At least, not on purpose.

"You look a little pale," Carter told him as they walked through the whitewashed halls of the station. "Maybe I should have listened to Dave, and taken you straight home. You tired after rehab?"

"No," John told him. "I'm right... It's just..." He shifted his weight uncomfortably over the crutches. "It's just been a while, that's all."

"Well, at least you still know the way. Come on, they'll be waiting."

In hind sight, he should have known it was coming. After all, Carter had mentioned it when he had visited John in the hospital. But Sheppard still jumped higher than he would have liked as he walked through the doors into the office and a dozen or so people cheered.

He stopped still, like a deer caught in headlights, the noise catching him off guard. Carter grinned at his goldfish impersonation. "Surprise."

John forced himself to take a deep breath. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, shaking his head. Whatever it was, it was overwhelming. For a minute his good leg shook, and he wanted to run. This didn't feel right.

"This?" Carter clarified, clearly not sensing John's discomfort. "This is what you deserve."

The words had an ominous ring to them, but Sheppard didn't have time to read anything more than that into them. Carter gave him a gentle push forward, and before John knew it, he was standing in the centre of the room, still being cheered and applauded, while Captain O'Neill, the bureaucratic officer who thought he was in charge of the division, clapped a pudgy hand on Sheppard's shoulder and smiled.

Which was just weird. O'Neill didn't like anyone. He didn't respect anyone. And he certainly didn't smile at them like this. And John could have sworn that the last time he had seen his captain, the man had been...

Thinner?

Trying to shove those thoughts away, John pulled his attention back to the present as O'Neill lifted his hand and motioned for quiet. The room eventually died down, and O'Neill's grin became more sombre.

"It seems like an age ago when we heard the news. That one of _our_ agents, working undercover in one of the most notorious drug rings in New York, was found out by the enemy. That he had been apprehended, and we all knew what that meant. Thought we knew, and we were so close to being willing to accept it."

O'Neill looked over at John, who shifted on his good leg. He did not like where this was going. "But one among us was not willing to accept it," the Captain continued. "And going beyond protocol, beyond common sense, beyond survival, he stormed the enemy stronghold single-handedly. Using only bravery, and decency, he saved a good man, a good officer's life."

John managed to catch Carter's gaze; the older man rolled his eyes, and Sheppard tried to relax as he forced an easygoing smile onto his face while O'Neill went on.

"Unjustly, John Sheppard was himself captured trying to save Officer McKee's life. And for four days he suffered, more than any man should have to endure. Because of his bravery, decency, and unwavering loyalty to his fellow man. To a teammate."

John swallowed, and looked down, shoving the nightmares away before they could even begin to be remembered.

"Today," O'Neill said. "We honour that loyalty, that bravery. Not just with our thanks. But with the highest honour any police officer can receive." The round man turned to Sheppard, and again grabbed his shoulder. "We don't have the medal here today, John. No, that deserves a real ceremony, once you're back on your feet and back among us. But today... well, good job, son. You did your team, and your country proud."

Everyone clapped again, and John tried not to look to embarrassed. But he swore he was going to chew Carter out the minute he had the man alone.

Which, admittedly, took a while. Everyone officer in the room seemed to want to shake his hand, once for gratitude, and twice for luck. But eventually that wore thin for even the greenest of recruits, and John was left standing with O'Neill and Carter, still shocked beyond words.

"We're proud of you, son," O'Neill told him, intoning the words as if he were still giving a speech. "You saved McKee's life, and put yours on the line. And what's more, you stood up to those bastards, even as they tried their damndest to break you." The man clapped his hand on John's shoulder once more, but this time Sheppard was grateful: it hid the flinch, at least from the Captain. "You're a credit to this force, Sheppard."

Carter on the other hand, seemed to finally be picking up on John's discomfort, frowning as O'Neill removed his hand. Sheppard could feel himself turning pale, his leg shaking, and the older man turned to O'Neill.

"Sir, if you don't mind, I need to debrief Sheppard on some things. We'll just be in my office." Again Carter put his hand on John's back, steering him in that direction as he smiled up at O'Neill. "That was a nice speech, Captain."

Before O'Neill could say a word back, they were away, and into Carter's office. John found the nearest chair and collapsed into it, shaking his head.

"You should have warned me," John breathed as Carter sat back on his desk. "You should have told me what was happening."

But he didn't really need the stern words; Carter was looking guilty enough as it was. "No. I shouldn't have brought you here at all," he muttered, looking down. "You weren't ready for that."

"No," John agreed. "You're right. I wasn't. He leaned his crutches on the arm of the chair. "And I don't think I'll ever be. I don't deserve a medal, Carter."

"That's where you're wrong," the older man replied, moving around to sit at his desk. "Whatever you think, you do."

John just shook his head in denial, and decided to change the subject. "So, what did you want to tell me?"

"Nothing," Carter told him. "I just wanted to get you out of there. Give you a few minutes peace and rest before I take you home."

"Well, I don't really want to go there, either," John let him know. "Dave's acting like it's his fault, won't leave me alone. I never knew there could be someone out there as bad as Carson."

At that, Carter frowned. "Who?"

John went still, racking his mind for an answer. "Ah... just... someone I know." He thought, frowning. Was it? "Anyway, there were a few things I've been meaning to ask you."

"Like what?" Carter asked cautiously, leaning back in his chair.

"About the guys who had me." He spat the words out fast. "I mean, I'm assuming some were arrested?"

"Yeah, three survived the shootout, though one's still in ICU. One's in our cells, and we've been questioning him, but he's not telling much."

"Didn't really think he would," John muttered, shifting on his seat. "Have they asked anymore about Atlantis?"

"Atlantis?" Carter barked, half laughing, half worried with confusion. "What do you mean?"

John shook his head, not catching onto that half worry glinting dangerously in Carter's eye. "Atlantis? I don't know, it's something those guys were... were questioning me about."

"You mean you've remembered some?" Carter demanded, leaning forward onto his elbows.

John nodded, intensely uncomfortable as his brain caught up to what his mouth was talking about. "Just... some nightmares, that's all. And in one of them, they were asking me about Atlantis. Or talking about asking me, at least." Before one of them had turned into a pale monster and sucked the life out of his chest. But he didn't mention that. "Do you know what it is?"

Carter's frown deepened, and he shrugged. "Uh... mythical city that sank into the ocean. Plato, I think." He shrugged again. "Maybe your mind's just filling in blanks with anything it can come up with."

John didn't want to consider that possibility, if that led to the conclusion that the white monster was his own creation. "But it felt so real," he said with a shake of his head. "You sure you haven't heard of any divisions, or task forces called Atlantis? Anything at all they might be interested in?"

Carter shook his head. "Nope. Sorry John. But I can take a look for you. Do some investigating if you want?" He gave a grin. "That's my job after all."

John thanked him with a grin, and forced his mind to close the matter. But that didn't completely kill the worried feeling deep inside his gut.

* * *

When Dave got home that night, John was staring aimlessly at a magazine he had picked up off the coffee table. He wasn't really sure what it was, only that it was boring. Not that he was concentrating on any of the words. His mind was racing, and he was frowning, and he wasn't even really sure why.

"John Sheppard!"

John sat upright; he hadn't even heard the front door open, but suddenly there was his big brother, scowling over him, foot tapping and arms crossed. And John didn't even know what he had done.

"Uh... hey Dave." He licked his lips. "You okay?"

"No," Dave answered. "No, I'm not. You know why?"

He was actually expecting an answer. John put down the magazine. "Did something happen at work?"

"Just one thing," Dave told him. "A certain person with a degree in psychology called. About the fact that my little brother has skipped out on a session with her."

"Oh." A certain person... Hadn't Carter used those exact same words? "Well..." His face dropped, and he sighed. "Yeah, you're right. I didn't go."

"Well, you should have, John!" Dave snapped, sitting down in his own chair, angry. "Those sessions are important. You went through a terrible ordeal, John. You need to see someone about it, because you're not invincible!"

"I know," John told him quietly. "You're right."

"I'm... Are you feeling okay, John?"

He looked up at Dave, who was looking very worried all of a sudden. He forced a laugh. "So now you're worried when I agree with you? Damn, Dave."

But the older man just shook his head. "It's just... sometimes I think you don't agree with me just on principle. What changed your mind?"

"About the shrink?" John asked. He wasn't sure he could answer that. But Dave wanted him to. "Just... everything. I don't know." He swung his legs over the side. "I'm just... Damn, this is hard." He shook his head and looked Dave in the eyes, guessing he just had to jump right in and speak. If he couldn't talk to Dave, how could he talk to a stranger?

"It's just, that ever since I woke up, none of this has seemed right."

"None of... this?" Dave wanted to clarify, looking hurt all of a sudden. "John, look, I'm sorry if I overstepped my -."

"No!" John interrupted. "God, no. Not you." He paused, and then amended. "Not just you, anyway. Not just any one thing. I mean... everything. Everything seems surreal, and too bright, and just... weird."

"But that's to be expected isn't it?" Dave asked. "That's what the doctor said."

John nodded. "Yes, that's what they said. But I guess I'm... I'm having trouble. I'm having weird, and honestly, scary dreams. And I don't know what's real... in them."

At least, mostly in them. Most of it he could guess. But if Carter was right, about Atlantis just being a myth, then he would bare his ass down Broadway. Atlantis felt real. He licked his lips, and looked up at Dave again.

"So you're right. And next time I'm not skipping out."

Dave nodded slowly, eyes raking his brother as if he were trying to see something, or sense it. And he just nodded. "Okay, John. Good." He gave a tentative smile. "Now, you hungry?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! I will get time to start answering them soon (though I won't answer backlogged ones, I'll just start replying to new ones) because I've finally finished all my work that I've left to the last minute... for the moment.

Anyways, this chapter's longer than before, so have fun and I'll see you tomorrow night, when I'll hopefully be able to get to bed before 2:30am... for the first night since Thursday...

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Chapter 5

"You know, these sessions only help if you actually do some of the talking, John."

Sheppard looked up from where he was busying himself with a frayed area of the couch. The doc was looking at him, half-exasperated, half-annoyed, half-amused. It was a strange combination on her usually still face.

John sighed and shifted on the couch. "It's hard, doc," he told her, rubbing his chin. He hadn't shaved that morning, and it was irritating the hell out of him. "Usually I just forget what's happened and move on with it. No sense in thinking about things you can't change."

"And what's the difference this time?" She knew, of course. She was playing with him. She knew exactly how it was different this time.

He let her know that he knew she knew with a frustrated scowl. "Might have something to do with the broken body a bunch of SOB drug dealers left me with." No, it more than that.

"But you've been hurt before," she reminded him. "In fact, it seems you've had quite the career. Nothing so bad as this, of course. But you've been shot, stabbed... beat up. I know there's something more, John. Something less physical than your body."

Oh, she knew, did she. He scowled deeper, and went back to picking at the frayed patch. "I don't know," he lied, quickly shaking his head at his own words. "Maybe cause this time, my mind doesn't want to forget. Or maybe because it doesn't know what to forget. Or maybe just because there's nothing there to forget, and it's confused."

"You seem to have given this some thought."

"Every damn night," he muttered before he could help himself.

"Before or after you sleep?" the doc asked slowly, sitting more upright.

"After, I guess. And during." He rubbed his face. "I've been having nightmares."

"Which is to be expected," she told him. "You know that. So I'll ask again. What's different this time?"

He gave a hollow laugh and then sighed. "Honestly... It's... my dreams, they're... man, this is hard." He licked his lips and then decided to jump right in. "I can't trust them," he told her. "I have these dreams, and they're so vivid, so real, but they can't have happened. Or if they have, I can't remember them, Dave can't remember them, and I don't have any evidence of them happening."

"Like what?" she asked, throwing her auburn hair over her shoulder. She looked deadly serious.

"Like... flying a helicopter through Antarctica," he told her, leaning forward without leaning on his bad leg. "Except, according to my brother, I'm afraid of flying, and I sure as hell can't remember ever going to the South Pole."

"According to your brother?" she asked, curious at the expression.

John chuckled in exasperation. "Yeah, according to Dave... I... I don't know if it's what happened to me. But ever since I found out I was afraid of flying, I've had the urge to go get my pilot's license anyway."

"Do you feel afraid of flying?"

"Yes." No. "Look, aren't we getting away from the main problem here?" He really didn't want to talk about that just yet. He wanted at least one confusion in his life sorted out before he tackled the others.

"There is no main problem here, John," she told him sternly. "Just you. But, if you wish.... what else do you dream about?"

"Uh... crashing, in a desert. Being tortured..." He paused. "Except that the guys who are torturing me are asking about something that apparently doesn't exist." He rubbed his face again. "I just... I feel as if... if I can't trust my own head, my own mind, to let me know what's real... how can I trust anything else?"

"How so?" the woman asked, frowning. She looked worried. No doubt for his sanity. But he had come this far.

"It's just... the mind controls everything, right? As in, everything. And if it's not okay, if it can't let me know that what I'm dreaming about, what I'm remembering, is real... than what if it's showing me something wrong on the outside as well." He groaned and rubbed his face for a third time. "Am I even making sense?"

Surprisingly, she laughed. "Yes. John, yes, I understand you. But I think you're overcomplicating it. In fact, from what you've told me, about your dreams, I think your mind is perfectly fine. We knew from the beginning that you would suffer memory loss. And it is that which you brain is having a hard time coming to terms with. Thus, it's filling in the blanks with something which it feels is suitable for that jagged memory."

He wasn't convinced, and she knew it. Sighing, she placed her clipboard to the side and leaned forward.

"Do you really want to know, John? Do you really want to know what happened?"

"Yes." He replied without hesitation. He had to know.

"Are you sure? What you see... it may not be complete. Or it could be absolutely complete, and in your case, I'm not sure which would be worse."

"I don't care," he told her. "I have to know what's real in this damn head of mine."

"Okay then," she breathed. "I know a technique. It's not fun, and it could cause you some distress."

"What is it?"

"A form of meditation. It will put you under just enough that I may – and I repeat, may – be able to help you see past the curtains and reveal what you mind is trying to both hide and find. We may also need a few attempts before we really get anywhere, but we can begin to do it in sessions. If you wish."

"Okay," he said slowly. "What do I need to do?"

"Relax," she ordered. "Just sit back in the chair and close your eyes. And try not to think how stupid this is."

He forced back a grin. That had been exactly what he was thinking. But he cleared his mind, focusing on his breathing, sinking back into the frayed couch and just completely relaxing. His breathing deepened quickly, and he tried not to let his mind wander onto thoughts like how this was impossible, and how he should just walk out now, before he found out she printed her degree out from online.

"Okay, John. Good. That's good." The doc's voice seemed to come from far away, echoing inside Sheppard's head, resounding and clear. "Breathe, slowly, in through the nose and out through the mouth. In through the nose, and out through the mouth. You can feel your whole body going completely still, can feel the weight slowly seeping out through your very pores."

She was right. He did start to feel lighter. But he didn't think about that, just focused on his breathing, on her voice, and on the knowledge that he had to know what his mind was hiding.

"Excellent, John," she soothed. "Now, I want you to imagine a dark lake lapping at your feet. You can't see the far shore, and you can't see the bottom, but it does not scare you. In fact, the lake is peaceful, quiet, serene."

He felt himself smile. The lake wasn't quiet, but he didn't feel afraid. Because the lake sang to him, melody rising and falling in time with the slow waves caressing the shore line. It felt familiar, that song, like a comfortable echo in his very bones.

"You're doing great. Now, I want you to walk forward, into the lake. Keep on walking, John, until you are completely submerged. It will not harm you," she told him as he began to frown. "The lake is the waters of your mind, and the water is like air to your soul."

She had a beautiful way of talking, this shrink. He felt himself smile again, and reached out through the water just to keep a hold of her voice. Strange, but she spoke in time with the song of the water.

"You are deep inside the lake now, John. It's dark, but I need you to remember the dark, John. Any time you feel scared, or hurt, just close your eyes and think of the dark, and you will be safe back within the lake."

He gave the smallest nod, and if he had been aware of anything besides the lake and the psychologist's voice, he would have noticed the tiny surge of nerves deep in his stomach.

"Okay then. I want you to picture a room in front of you. Not just any room. The room you're drug dealers kept you in. Down to the very last details you remember."

He swore his heart skipped a beat, but that didn't mean he could stop himself from obeying her. He pictured the room, complete with the dingy light, the lack of windows, the heat, the chair, the men watching a broken body in that chair, covered in blood and mud and other things he didn't want to think about. So he looked past himself, looked at the men, the walls, the instruments lining the tables. Strange, but the room looked oddly country for New York.

The shrink's voice cut in sharply. "I know you're picturing it wrong, John," she told him. "Think. Not about what you feel was right. But about what _was_ right. Look past the details you know are wrong. Concentrate. Open your mind up to it."

He wasn't sure there was anything wrong with it. But he obeyed, staring blankly at everything, just willing it all to become right.

And after a minute, it did.

The wooden walls turned to concrete. The men cast off their shirts and trousers, and replaced it with jeans and leather. A hum took up its song in the background, almost drowning out the melody of the lake still strumming in the back of his head.

He took a step forward. "Is this right?" he demanded in a whisper.

"What do you think?" the woman asked, and he shook his head.

"I don't know... It looks right." And it did look right. It looked right. He concentrated on the men. "Those men. I remember those men. They were in my dream."

"Well, that's a start. Concentrate on them. And remember the dream."

He didn't really want to, but again, he couldn't disobey her. And like a flash, the images passed across his mind, though this time the sounds drowned out the psychologist's voice with a ferocity and suddenness he had not expected.

The wind and snow froze and blinded him before the snow turned to sand, the wind to sun, and he was falling, crashing, so quickly, more quickly than it had happened in the dream. At least this time it had that fuzzy quality of a dream. And then he was laying down in front of shimmering blue, and it called to him. Something beyond that blue called to him. He got to one knee, all sense of déjà vu disappearing in that instance.

_John, can you hear me?_

The voice was faint, unrecognisable, and he dismissed it as he got to his other knee, kneeling in front of the round pool of blue, breathing quickly. Something was through there. Something. Someone? More than one?

_John, you need to come back! This isn't real, John!_

The voice was sterner this time, and he looked behind him, looking for that voice. And when he turned his head back, ever so slowly, the blue was gone, replaced by the dark walls of the room he had been held prisoner in.

His breath caught, and he tried to stand up. Only he couldn't move, he was tied down, and everything hurt.

And this was real. His head was telling him, _this_, this was real. Now he just had to get his heart to believe it as well. Maybe then...

_John, you're in too deep. Remember the lake John. Remember the darkness._

There was no darkness though, just the man, in denim and leather, approaching him, cracking knuckles.

"I need to know," he whispered, his voice hard, dark, angry. "What have you told your cop friends?"

"Nothing." John's voice moved of its own accord. "I haven't told those pigs a damn thing. I'm no cop."

"Bullshit," the man told him. _John, that's it. Come back, John. Come back to the lake. Focus on the dark._

"I know you're lying to me," the man continued, even as Sheppard thought back. It was a struggle. But he remembered the dark. He just couldn't go back yet. He had to know if Atlantis was real. "Tell me, _detective_. What did you tell?"

"Nothing," John maintained. His heart was beating even faster. "I told you what I know."

The man grinned. "Not yet, you haven't. But you will."

And he drew his fist back, even as that disembodied voice shouted at him, _John!_ And he closed his eyes, waiting. Waiting, even as another, second disembodied voice whispered in the familiar darkness...

_Are you even aware?_

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When he opened his eyes, he wasn't in the shrink's office.

Disorientated, he looked around, quickly realising he was actually in a car. Dave's car to be exact.

"Finally decided to join the land of the living?"

It took John a minute to realise his brother was talking to him. "What?" he demanded, only half listening. He could have sworn he had been sitting down, in that old, hole-ridden couch when he had closed his eyes. And he couldn't remember leaving the office.

"Are you okay?" Dave asked, glancing worriedly over at him. "You've been pretty out of it since I picked you up."

Which he couldn't remember. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He looked around, trying to orientate himself. "Where are we headed?"

"Oh, finally decided to notice we weren't heading home?" Dave asked with a grin. His eyes remained worried though. John ignored it. "It's a surprise."

Now John thought he should be worried. "Dave, where are we going? I'm not really in the mood for a surprise."

The older man's face fell, and he sighed, turning his concentration back to the road. "Fine. Whatever. I'm taking you to the mall."

"Why the hell are we going to the mall?" John demanded, recognising the route now. "I'm not really in the mood for that, either."

"That shrink left you with one foul temper," Dave muttered. "What exactly did she say?"

"Nothing," John told him with a little more snap than he intended. "I'm just tired, and I don't really want to be around people." Truthfully, he was a little scared about the sudden loss of an hour or so. "So why are we going?"

"Because you're going insane with boredom at home," Dave snapped back. "I thought you could get a book, or a puzzle or something. Anything to stop you from scrawling through the internet looking for places that only exist in your head."

John bit back the first answer that came to mind: that the places he was searching for did exist. He didn't really want to say that when he wasn't even sure that they did. "You know, puzzles really aren't my thing."

"Yeah, well, I don't really care what you get, as long as my internet usage starts going down. Here we are."

The mall was busy and loud, full of families and little kids that tended to get in the way of his crutches. Determined to be happy for Dave's sake, he trudged along, and heaved a sigh of relief as the older man led the way to the closest book store. "I know you enjoy reading."

Wondering if Dave really did know that, or if he himself even did, he followed anyway, mostly because it seemed a lot quieter than the footpaths outside.

They split up inside, and John headed down a random aisle, deciding to give this a go, and find something to do. Dave was right – he was losing his mind sitting around the house, more literally than figuratively.

He was quietly pleased to find himself in the history section, and paused to stare at a shelf. It was mostly on Greece, and islands of the Mediterranean. But that was fine by him. It was just something to pass the time, and if it was something he was interested in, that was even better.

He spent a few minutes just looking at the titles, picking up a few to peruse the contents. But five minutes later, he was getting pretty bored when he spotted it.

Biting his lip and looking around, making sure no one was watching, he grabbed the thin book off the bottom shelf. And for a moment, he just stared at the cover. At the blue and green colours, at the city sinking beneath huge waves, an angry storm... at the golden title: _Atlantis_.

"I'm an idiot," he breathed to himself, flicking the book open.

The first few pages were everything he had expected. Uniform black writing telling about Plato's mythical city that had sunk beneath the waves, complete with pictures and diagrams. It told how Plato had compared it to Athens, and how it had been a hotbed of all those terrible things that Athens had not liked. John shook his head and looked around again, searching for anyone watching him.

When he looked back again, the page was different.

He blinked, but it didn't change back. Heart suddenly beating fast, he looked closer, at the now picture-less page, the boring print, the typed words. The military style of writing.

_Report: P3X-459_

_Native population met us at the gate with no signs of hostility. They seemed happy to share their lunch with us, and were fascinated by our technology. Suggest going back, to negotiate trading medicines for some of their harvest..._

John took a deep breath, but didn't take his eyes off the book, too afraid it would change back to that boring mythical Atlantis he had been reading about. He turned the page.

... _The mission turned dramatic when one of our indigenous guides fell down a small mine shaft. Thankfully Dr McKay was able to rig up a stand so we could pull him out..._

He knew that name. McKay. "McKay." How did he know it? He shook his head and turned the page again.

_...His home world was destroyed. Given that he has nowhere else to go, and given his unique skills and knowledge, I suggest recruiting him as a member of the Atlantis Expedition. He would be a valuable asset to my team._

Atlantis Expedition. Yes. That was it. Something, about those words, about that name. He knew it. Atlantis wasn't just in his mind, it was real, and if he could just stretch his thoughts a little, he would see it, would remember exactly what it –

Something suddenly hit him, interrupting his train of thought. It was hard to think when you were falling over.

John hit the ground hard and couldn't help but cry out as he knocked his hip, sending shooting pains down through his leg. He rolled over, careful not to hit the book shelves, and then just lay there, breathing heavily through his nose.

A hand entered his field of vision, and he looked up at the thing that had bowled him over. And for the second time in thirty seconds, he got a massive shock.

He knew the man standing over him, knew that guilt-ridden face, those wide eyes under that thin, fair hair. Knew that build, that hand still shaking in his face... He _knew_ this man. He just...

"McKay," he breathed without meaning to, and the world shifted slightly.

The dark haired young man frowned and moved his hand back a little. "Um... No. Man, sorry, I must have hit you harder than I thought. I am so sorry! I didn't see you standing there until it was too late, and... I am so -."

"What the hell?" Dave's irate voice interrupted, and a second later John was rolling his eyes as big brother knelt by his side.

"John, are you okay? Jesus, what happened?" He glared up at the young man. John stared up as well, willing him to change back, because he needed a reminder of who _McKay_ was. Because he couldn't remember, even when he had seen it a second ago.

"Did you push him over?" Dave demanded of the kid, who blanched.

"I didn't mean to, I swear. I just... I didn't see him!"

"Well, you're lucky he's okay, because -."

"Dave, give it up," John interrupted with some annoyance. "It happens, get over it. I'm fine. Just help me up."

He got slowly to his feet – or one of them, at least – and pulled his crutches underneath him. He tried not to wince, and managed to hide a little one from Dave, who was still scowling at the guy who had knocked him over. "Come on, Dave," he muttered. "Let's just go. I know what book will keep me not bored."

He pushed Dave forward to get him going, and followed with some difficulty. But even the ache deep in his hip wasn't enough to stop him from turning back and looking down at the book still open, and lying on the ground.

It was back to those boring, meaningless words about a fake city, and John decided he really needed to find out if he was going crazy or not.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Sorry for not posting last night, finally managed to get some sleep! I know, there was actually a night when I didn't have to worry about assignments!

Anyways, thanks again to everyone who reviewed! And here's the next chapter...

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Chapter 6

Finding out if he was insane or not turned out to be a lot harder than he thought it should be. Dave didn't seem to leave the house for the next three days. Which was weird, and odd, and wrong on so many levels. The most important of those being that it just didn't sit right with John. And the more he thought about it, the more he realised everything here just did not feel right, and it was because of more than the surreal feeling the shrink said torture would have caused.

But he kept his feelings from Dave; he didn't want to freak his brother out. Instead he spent his time building the models he had bought at the mall, and reading the book he had gotten. War and Peace. He figured he was going to be out of action for a long time, why not buy a book that took a long time to read.

But finally Dave went back to work, and John heaved a sigh of relief as the man walked out the door. Finally, he could get down to business.

It didn't help that he didn't really know _how_ to get down to business. How did one go about finding out if one were crazy or not? He thought, on some level, that even considering the fact that he might be going crazy should have been a sign that everything in his head was right and well, and that the doc was right: that these feelings were because of what had happened to him.

But everything that was happening to him was not right and well, and he shoved away the model pieces as he came to that conclusion. Yet again.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. This wasn't working. He was losing his mind while he was trying to decide if he was losing his mind.

He gave a growl without realising it, and pushed away from the table, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way down to the bathroom. Going around in circles was giving him a headache.

The Tylenol tasted terrible going down, but he swallowed anyway, leaning against the basin and looking at the mirror. And for the first time since he had gotten out of hospital, he really studied himself.

Something was wrong, he quickly decided. He was pale, the thin scar on his forehead livid against his white skin. He was a lot thinner as well, his clothes hanging off him. His hair was longer, oily, lank, lying flat on his head. He shook his head. This needed to change. He couldn't do this. He looked terrible. Why hadn't Dave said anything?

He backed up and turned around, quickly stripping and getting in the shower. It was all on impulse, he wasn't thinking anymore. He couldn't think, couldn't deal. Not only was his mind turning on him, now his body wasn't even him.

He turned the hot water on and refused to flinch as it hit him, just taking it, letting it wake him up. His skin turned red quickly, but he ignored it, just leaning on the side of the shower, his palm against the cool tiles, just letting it all wash over him.

Eventually he turned the cold water on a little, just to make the heat bearable. And he turned his face up at the stream, trying to find John Sheppard. Even if he didn't really know who John Sheppard was anymore. Or maybe because of it.

But the fact that he didn't know who he was, it didn't scare him. He felt relaxed, light, weightless, and, again completely on impulse, he thought about the shrink's dark lake.

He walked quickly into it this time, not stopping, not scared, just curious. Within seconds he was submerged, and within a few more, the lake was singing to him.

Only this time it was different. He didn't hear it, and the tune was different. And its melody reverberated through his very bones, in his bloodstream, in his heart, his soul. In reality, he stood up straighter, recognising that tune, but in his mind, he just stood there, still as stone, listening to that song, knowing it, and not caring that he couldn't place it. Because, whatever it was, it sung to him. And only to him.

Curious, he followed the tune, or it followed him, either way, he moved, and the lake around him shifted, changed, and grew.

And suddenly he was standing on a balcony. The space before him was wide open, blue ocean spread out before him, meeting the sky at a far distant horizon. The view took his breath away, and he just stared at it, never once thinking about turning around. He had a vague idea of a wall behind him, of windows and soaring architecture, and a beauty rarely seen on Earth. But it was in the back of his mind, mostly forgotten as he stared, hypnotised, at the rippling blue of the ocean.

He had no idea how long he stood there, but after a while he realised the blue was changing. Shrinking, and becoming a deeper blue. And his fascination changed, because he actually did recognise this blue. He had seen it before, in his dreams.

Suddenly a person moved past him, a blur in his mind, but moving slowly, more slowly than they actually would have. Words shouted at him, distorted, as a featureless face turned back to yell at him with intensity. With fear.

His heart began pounding as that fear caught on. But it was too late. A searing pain pounded into his shoulder, from behind, and he screamed out as it went right through.

His body, still standing up in the shower, jerked, but in his mind, he just pushed the person through the blue: they disappeared and he turned, to attack. And fell.

Holding into consciousness he tried to crawl forward, using one arm, the other one all but useless, drenched in blood. He wasn't sure where it led, or why it did lead somewhere, or how he knew that it did. But it did, and he needed to follow that person-blur. Because he couldn't stay here.

But he had no choice about it. Just like in his earlier dreams. Feet appeared in front of him, hands grabbed at him, and blurs tried to follow through the blue. A deeper fear gripped him, and again he shouted words that held no meaning for him.

"Shut it down!"

The blue died instantly, and he was hauled to his feet, arms bound behind his back, tightly with coarse rope. He tried to fight, but he couldn't. The pain in his shoulder was almost paralysing, and he could feel himself falling deeper into the blackness of his own mind.

_No!_

And with his real mind's desperate plea, the world shifted. The blackness sprung away from his vision, the pain in his shoulder disappeared, and he was staring up into cold, familiar eyes as he was shoved down into a chair. The world shifted as well, the forest becoming a dull beige prison room, an antique camera staring at his face.

He looked up into those cold eyes, and scowled with anger, hate. His mouth moved, but he couldn't catch the words. The other man just grinned, though it didn't really touch his eyes. Didn't warm them up... they just remained cold.

And then a door slammed open, and John jumped to look, his stomach dropping as he took in the white haired monster, shuffling towards him, hand outstretched. He tried to lean back, away, but he could only move so far when he was tied to the chair. His heart beat so fast he thought it would burst from his chest, and he knew he had to get away. Knew he had to... be... anywhere but... HERE!

The world blinked, and suddenly the monster was standing over him. The cold eyed man was gone, and the bare walls were covered in chains, and tools, and blood. And he wasn't sitting anymore, but standing up, arms wrenched above his head.

The world was hazy, and thick, his movements sluggish as he struggled to lift his head, his eyes sliding closed, his mind slipping away already. But the monster was still in front of him, though now it looked worried, guilty as he slipped away.

_Can you hear me? Please, hear me! Come back. Fight it, fight –_

Another door slammed open, and the monster turned away, only now he wasn't a monster, he was the man who had been staring at him in the hospital, the guilty man. And that was all he saw as the man backed away, fear ripe on his face, fading away as he faded away...

And the world blinked.

He wrenched his eyes open, and he was still standing. But he wasn't back, not back to reality... whatever reality was. He was still stuck, stuck in this world he had slipped unwittingly into. And he wanted out.

He tried picturing the dark of the lake, like the doctor had told him, but it didn't work. He opened his eyes and moved forward down the corridor, stealthily, gun up, heart now surprisingly steady. And he realised he was searching for someone.

Forgetting about the lake, he let his body take him where it wanted. It wandered through a dark grey facility, lights blinking above, electricity sparking. It was dark and shadowy, but he felt no fear. Just a niggling feeling in the back of his stomach that he needed to find something.

Someone.

A door was suddenly in front of him, and he opened it up with a single, gentle push. A terrible smell hit his nose, of blood and shit and death. Old death, for which he was thankful. He took a step in, and there he was. The person he was searching for.

Too bad he didn't recognise him. Sheppard walked forward anyway, moving towards the man dangling from the ceiling. One shoulder was dislocated, that was easy to tell, but the man didn't move, didn't shake from the pain he had to be in. He just hung there, face swollen, bleeding, dripping.

Sheppard approached him, disgusted, furious, scared, all without knowing why. He let his P90 drop to his chest, and reached out to touch the man, heart beating fast. He really hoped he wasn't dead.

And as he looked up and studied the man, it was like a door opened, and a name to match the face slipped out...

"McKay..."

Stars suddenly flew across his vision, and before he realised he had been hit across the head, he was on the ground, McKay's feet dangling in front of him. And then he was off the ground, hauled upwards and backwards, slammed heavily enough into a chair that it ripped the air from his lungs.

And the white haired monster, his now human eyes boring deep into John's, looking, searching for anything, any sign of life... it let a guilty sigh out. "Are you still in there?"

And then it's voice changed, became deeper, throatier, and it suddenly grinned at him as it raised its hand, ready. "Are you even aware?"

Sheppard jumped and then groaned as his body protested. He blinked, and then focused, a little disturbed to be staring at tiles. Wet tiles. And water was still washing over him.

He was back. Back in reality. If this was really reality. McKay. McKay was reality. He knew that name, knew it from somewhere. And Atlantis. He knew Atlantis. Of course, he didn't know _exactly_ what either of them were. But they were something. Something everyone else was hiding from him. Hell, the world seemed to be hiding them from him.

But he was determined. He had to find out. Groaning, he got to his feet, using the side of the shower to support himself as he struggled to get upright. He turned the taps off, wondering how long he had been like that, and not caring. Because he had to find out.

* * *

He knew he couldn't use Dave's computer anymore. Not to search things. Dave would know. And whatever _this_ was, Dave was in on it.

Then again, by the time he stepped off the bus outside the internet cafe, he was less sure that _this_ even existed. But he stuck to his guns and walked inside, not sure if he even wanted to know. If he found out neither McKay, nor Atlantis, even existed, it would prove he was crazy. But somehow the idea that he wasn't, that this might be some sick joke, that Dave was keeping him from knowing... whatever it was... that felt like it could be worse.

But he went inside the dark cafe and sat down at a computer near the back, telling himself that people weren't staring at him, that he was being paranoid.

He opened up the search engine and typed in 'Atlantis'. And then he sat there. He couldn't hit enter. His finger hovered over the button for a minute, as he licked his lips, wondering if he should just stop here and now, because surely Dave wouldn't do this to him. He was his brother, after all.

He hit delete, and then paused again, remembering his shock at finding Dave looking after him. After what had happened last year...

He scowled at himself, bracing his shoulders, and typing in the word 'McKay'. This time he hit enter before he could even think about stopping himself.

He sighed as soon as the results appeared on the page. 38,383,838 results. That was a lot of results. And he had only bought fifteen minutes of internet time. That was all he was going to give himself before he decided he just needed to spend more time in the shrink's office.

Well, he better get started.

John ignored the first few results, pages about two-way radios, and wedding photos, and some computer science guy from a university in Australia, and just scrolled down the page, hoping something would jump out at him. He ignored the results for mackay, knowing that definitely wasn't it. Something about some character in a television show. Nope, that wasn't it.

He gave a growl as he hit the bottom. Nothing. This was pointless. Then again, he was only two minutes in. He went back to the top of the page and hit the first link, the one about two-way radios. And that was exactly what it was about. He went back to the search results and hit the second link. The wedding photos were beautiful, but not what he was looking for.

Though if he were honest, he didn't know what exactly he was looking for. He gave another growl, quickly getting annoyed with himself, and clicked on the third link. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a pit of desperation burst into life in his stomach, and looked up at the screen.

And blinked. He recognised that face. The guy in the bookstore... before he had changed. Though he could have sworn the picture kept... sliding, shifting, trying to change. He leaned in closer, concentrating, though it was hard when the picture had a dreamlike quality.

He looked at the rest of the page. The link had lied. It wasn't about some professor from an Australian university. Actually, he didn't know where SGC was. Might have been a college, a town, anything for all he knew. He scrolled down, looking for any writing that might explain.

The only problem was, like the picture, the words kept shifting, changing, blurry more often than not, and he could only make out a few words here and there. Most kept coming back to him.

Genius.

SGC, whatever that was.

Physicist, scientist.

A few dozen words, nothing specific, but enough to get him hooked. Enough to worm into his mind and knock at a door to something he wasn't sure he wanted to open. But he kept looking, listening to that part of him that needed to find out more.

And then one word made him gasp, made his heart pound, made his breathing pause.

Atlantis. He was right, McKay, whoever he was besides a genius scientist, was connected to Atlantis...

Did that mean he wasn't losing his mind? And what was really happening if he wasn't?

That made him more anxious than anything, and he rubbed his eyes again. And when he looked back, the words were gone.

"No!" he cried softly, scrolling frantically up and down the page. But it was all gone. The words, the blurry picture, even the name in the corner. What had it been? What? "No, no, no!"

But it was too late, and he stared at the gray page, trying to remember to breath as he lost everything again. And he was back to the question of whether or not he was crazy.

But at least he knew, even if he was crazy, they couldn't take away the fact that McKay was –

A hand on his shoulder made him jump a foot off the chair, jumping up and spinning around, heart beating frantically. The man who had touched him flinched back, a worried look on his face as he snapped his arm away.

"Hey, sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

John shook his head, calming down slowly, something niggling inside of him. He ignored it, and just looked up at the man. "No, it's okay. Did you want something?"

The tanned man looked at him cautiously. "I just wanted to check you were okay, man." He gestured at the screen. "You've been staring at that one page for about twenty minutes."

"What?" John demanded, spinning around. "No I hav-."

He cut off as he looked down at the yellow page. The yellow page that had been gray only seconds before. "What... No."

He sat back down, forgetting about the dreaded man who had broken his concentration, and just stared at the page.

"McKay's Canadian Lemonade..." he breathed, not sure what to make of it. It wasn't possible. He had been staring at a grey screen, about a McKay, a real person, not some company. He shook his head again, and backed away, pushing past the worried looking young man without even noticing him. He was going crazy. That had to be it. It explained everything. It couldn't be anything else. He was going crazy, and his broken mind was looking for any way to explain it.

He walked out of the cafe and caught the next bus, still in a daze. He was halfway home before he realised what else had been bugging him. He had recognised that dreaded man.

He just didn't know where from.

* * *

He was sitting on the couch, thinking about it when Dave got home that night. He ignored his brother's usual noisy and talkative entrance. Did he want a coffee? How was his day? Could he believe the audacity of someone or other?

John ignored it all, barely even able to comprehend what his brother was saying. It was all too much on top of what he was already thinking about.

His silence must have been a warning, because Dave's voice quickly drifted off, and his feet became louder as he rushed towards the living room. The older man paused at the door, looking in on John, his face quickly paling. "John, what's wrong?"

The younger man shook his head, and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Dave, I think I'm going crazy."

There was a long pause as the older brother stared down at him, his eyes quickly moving from worried, to frantic, to scared, to anxious. "What makes you say that?" he asked gently as he moved into the room, taking one of the armchairs close to John.

John just shook his head again. "Because... Shit, because all this feels wrong."

"John, we've been over this," Dave answered softly. "The doctor's been over this with you. It's a perfectly natural -."

"No," John interrupted. "Not this. I... Dammit, Dave, sometimes I don't even think this is real!"

There, he had finally said it out loud, and it made his heart rate soar. He stood up, needing to move, to pace, to just do something besides sit there and worry over what the hell was happening to his head. "These nightmares I'm having... They're of things that can't be real. Places I've never been, people I've never met, monsters I really hope aren't real. No, that aren't real! At least, I think..." He shook his head, turned looked at Dave, rubbing his face. "And then... I go looking for them, Dave! I know... I thi... know they're not real, and I – I go looking for them!"

Dave licked his lips, easily picking up on his little brother's soaring anxiety. And then he stood up, striding over, grabbing John by the arms. "John, listen to me. This has to be normal. You just went through a terrible ordeal! You're mind... it's a little traumatised, but you have not lost it!"

"Don't say that!" John snapped, shoving the arms away, spinning around, needing to hit something, to shout something, to do anything but having no idea what. He settled for spinning back. "Dave, my mind is making up these things, and... God, I have no idea how to explain it!"

"Just try," Dave told him with a soothing voice. What was meant to be soothing. "You said you go looking for these things. Do you find them?"

John shook his head. "No. Yes. I don't know! I don't know! One second I have, and the next, it's a bunch of blurry words and pictures that make no sense, like they're in a different language! And the next second, it's completely gone, and I don't know what to do anymore, Dave! Just..." He turned back to his brother, grabbed his arms. "Just tell me -."

His heart gave a vicious throb, and he groaned, leaning over. The world seemed to blink, and then he was back, standing up right, with Dave talking to him.

"... looking for these things. Do you find them?"

John didn't answer, backing up. "What the... What the hell is happening?"

Dave frowned. "John. Do you -."

His heart pounded again, and John groaned, grabbing at his chest, and then cried out as his heart pounded again. He looked up at Dave, who hadn't seemed to notice. The man's mouth was still moving, but he wasn't saying what he had already said twice. And it wasn't in Dave's voice.

"No! We can't leave him like this any longer!"

John took another step back, some distant part of his mind wondering why he hadn't hit the wall yet. But he quickly forgot about that as his heart pounded again, the blood pumping through his veins making his head light, a sound like rushing in his ears. But he could still hear Dave. Or not Dave.

"You'll do as ordered, Vaiko." Again, a different voice. John looked up at his brother's figure and felt his breathing hitch in his chest. "If we let them take him, they'll destroy us. They'll kill us all."

The first voice answered, still using Dave's mouth, and John felt his legs give way beneath him. "This is not going to help you!"

"Neither will calling Atlantis!"

The second voice was almost drowned out by another pound of his heart, and suddenly Dave was gone. The entire room was gone. _What was that?_

The second voice asked it, but it was in his head. John tried to take a breath, tried to heave some air into his lungs, but he failed, and he tried to claw his way back to reality.

_Is he... Is he waking up?_

_He's trying to... Can you hear me? Come to my voice! It would really help if I knew his name!_

_I told you, all I want is results! Get them for me!_

_That's hard when you're killing him! We have no idea what's going on, or why the machine's..._

The world blanked out, and John felt like he was drowning. He tried to gasp for breath, and received only more words for his efforts.

_...we need the help of someone who understands this technology!_

_And how will they look upon us torturing not one, but two of their people. Wake him up if you can, Vaiko, but – what was that ..._

The voices faded out again, and John took another gasp. This time his lungs filled with air, and the world seemed to shimmer back into place. He was lying on his side, a hand on his shoulder. And he was exhausted. He couldn't get his eyes to open, or his body to move, and so he surrendered, falling into black unconsciousness.

"John, can you hear me? John!" _Are you aware... I'm not letting you die..._

* * *

Hmm... The plot thickens...


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** So we're getting to the meat of the story now. Before was just entree... soup i think. But tasty soup, I think...

Um, okay, sorry, I'm tired... enjoy your steak!

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* * *

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Chapter 7

Sheppard woke with a start, heart pounding as he bolted upright, trying to take in his surroundings, the noises, the white walls, while at the same time memories of a conversation in his head by two people he didn't know came flooding back.

A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, looking over, forgetting about his memory for a second as he looked up at a nurse in her blue uniform. And he frowned. "Why am I in hospital?"

It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but he let her push him back down until he was laying. He looked into her gentle eyes, and shook his head. "What happened?"

"Perhaps I should let the doctor explain," she told him smoothly, her words clearly expressed. "Please, be calm, and I will go to get him."

He took a deep breath, and continued staring up at her. She gave a nod, and turned to go, and before he could stop himself, he had reached out to grab her.

"I know you?"

He meant it as a statement, but it came out as a question. She smiled, and nodded. "You have seen me before. You have been in and out of consciousness so often these past three days, you should remember me, John."

He let her go, wondering if that was it, and then promptly forgot about it as the doctor came in, quickly followed, and almost pushed aside by Dave.

"John, thank God you're awake."

Dave rushed instantly to his side, while the doctor was somewhat more dignified about it. John looked between the two and frowned. "What happened?"

"I came home and found you unconscious," Dave explained before the doctor could say a word. "Scared the living daylights out of me."

That wasn't what he remembered, and he frowned. "Was that before or after our conversation about whether or not I was crazy?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Dave shared a look with the doctor. "What are you talking about? We've never talked about that."

John just stared at him. "Yes. Yes we did." He had not imagined it. You came home, I was freaking out on the couch..." The heart monitor started beeping faster. "We talked, I... It was real!"

"John-."

"You were probably hallucinating," the doctor suddenly interrupted, his voice stern. "That would not be out of the questions, all things considered. You have not been taking care of yourself, Detective Sheppard."

John looked up at him. "I haven't?" He thought he had been. Then again, he had thought he was crazy. Hadn't he? He rubbed his face, trying to ignore the flashes of a different place, and two arguing men.

"No, you haven't, and considering the terrible ordeal you went through, it was incredibly stupid of you."

John's jaw dropped, and he looked up. "I didn't think doctors could call patients stupid."

"In this case, I think I can," the man told him sternly. "You were dehydrated, exhausted, your iron levels were low... hell, everything was low."

"I felt... fine," he answered, thinking back. To be honest, he hadn't really listened to what his body was telling him. But he didn't say that. "So... that's making me... No. No! It was real, and this..." He gave a half-hearted scream, rubbed his face. "I just... It can't have been a hallucination!"

"I can assure you, you are sane, Detective," the doctor told him. "All your brain scans came back clear. It may even have been a dream. You fainted, after all."

"Not fainted," John muttered before he could help himself. He shook his head again. "It felt so real... It was real. I know it!"

"And does this feel real?" the doctor demanded, sharing another worried look with a white-faced Dave. "Detective, you just went through a terrible ordeal, I shouldn't –."

"I know, I know, it was a terrible ordeal, that's what everyone keeps telling me." He scowled and shook his head. "But... can't you understand? This doesn't feel real!" He gripped his sheets hard. "I don't know... Something is very wrong, and I don't know if it's with me, or with this world!" He felt his heart rate rising. "We had that conversation, Dave! I know we did, and then the world blinked. Just... I need you to stop lying!" He was shouting now, sitting up, getting closer, and the two men were backing away. "Tell me! I know... there are things! Dammit, Dave!"

The doctor was backing away, headed for the nurse approaching him. John didn't hear what they said, but Dave tried to come closer, eyes wide, hands up in surrender.

"John, please... calm down. I assure you this is real. This is real! I'm real, and you're real, and this world is real!"

"And Atlantis?"

Dave shared a frantic look with the doctor. "That is not. Trust me -."

"NO!" John screamed, finally losing it. "Atlantis is real! I swear to God it's real!"

"Then what is it?" Dave demanded, becoming angry. "Because I've never heard of it!"

"I don't..." John felt sick, rubbed his face, his hair. "I don't know... But I know it's real. I've heard it singing to me!"

Suddenly the doctor was by his side, and John didn't even know how. "No!" he shouted again, shoving the man away. But it was too late. "No..." He fell back onto the bed, felt his eyes getting heavier. And he found he didn't care. Because he knew. He knew Atlantis existed.

And then all he knew was black.

* * *

The sun shone high overhead, its light dancing on the surface of the ocean below, and making the buildings of a floating city shimmer. In one tower, two people, a man and a woman, circled each other, bantos rods held ready, eyes focused on each other with a steeled determination.

Without saying a word, Ronon rushed at Teyla, eyes angry, hands tight around his weapons. He attacked with the full force of his ability, but where before Teyla had only just kept up with such a fierce attack, now she blocked easily, knowing where his blows would fall, and knowing how to counter them. And like so often in the past two weeks, within minutes, Ronon was on the mat with a bantos rod at his throat.

He gave a growl, and Teyla backed away, spinning the rods. But Ronon had had enough. He chucked the two sticks away and got to his feet, marching from the room. All without saying a word.

Teyla caught up with him in seconds, hurriedly shoving the weapons into her bag. "Ronon," she tried, only to be cut off by a growl.

"Don't try that, Teyla," he warned. "I'm not in the mood today."

"If I was in any danger of your mood, I would not be talking to you at all," she told him with some shrewd amusement. "However you are so distracted today that you could not land a blow at all."

He stopped suddenly, turning to face her, his face tight. "No. I need to be distracted. Because all I can think about is..."

He trailed off, spinning and raising a hand as if he was going to hit the wall. But he didn't, which Teyla took as a good sign. He spun back to face her.

"It's been two weeks, Teyla. And still, there's no sign, no reports. He just... just vanished."

He started walking again, and Teyla sighed before hurrying to catch up. "We must have faith, Ronon," she told him gently, and he growled again, moving faster until she almost had to jog to keep up.

"In what?" he demanded, throwing her an angry glare. "In the Ancestors? If they were watching, they wouldn't have let him be taken at all. In McKay? He just sits in his room, he's afraid to go anywhere near his lab because he feels guilty about what happened! No. I'm done with faith."

"Well, what about faith in us," she tried, catching his arm to stop him. "We're never going to stop looking." Her gaze softened, and she grabbed his other forearm. "What about faith in him. He will not give up. We must not either."

Ronon gently removed her hands from his arms. "And what if he's dead?" he demanded in a harsh whisper. "What then?"

Teyla nodded, taking a deep breath. "We cannot believe that. We will keep trying. McKay is desperate to find him, and he is not afraid. He will be back in his lab when Dr Keller tells him he is allowed."

Ronon couldn't help but snort. "A month ago, he would have been in that lab, injuries and Keller be damned."

Teyla couldn't deny that. She just sighed, and nodded. "Give him time, Ronon. He went through a great deal of suffering."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Ronon told her before he could stop himself. He looked away. "McKay went through all that in one day... what has Sheppard gone through in two weeks?"

To that the Athosian had no answer, and the two stared at each other for a moment, not even dropping their gaze.

In the end, sirens interrupted them, and they both looked around, before running towards the control room. Maybe this time...

The gate was open and the shield was up when they arrived, but Woolsey and Major Lorne were standing before a blank screen, obviously waiting for something, and not someone. That something turned out to be Ronon and Teyla, judging by the way the two men turned around and beckoned them over.

"It's M3X-762," Lorne told them. "Joral is sending through both audio and visual, but we wanted to wait for you both until we answered, seeing as how it's your team that has had the most contact with his people."

Teyla nodded, and Woolsey turned to Chuck. "Open up a channel."

The screen flickered once, and then a face stared at them, grey and wrinkled, but warm enough. Teyla smiled. "Joral, it is wonderful to see you again. Are you well?"

"I am, thank you Teyla," the man answered, before frowning and glancing behind him. "However, I have a guest here who does not want us to talk small."

Lorne frowned. "What guest would that be?"

Joral shook his head. "He arrived through the Portal barely ten minutes ago, seeking allies of Atlantis." He looked behind him again, and they all guessed he was looking at said man. "He claims... he claims he has knowledge of your missing man."

"He what?" Lorne demanded, putting his hands on his hips. Teyla and Ronon just shared a look, wondering if they dared to hope. "What else has he said?"

"Very little," Joral answered with a shake of his head. "But then, I have not given him the chance. I heard Atlantis and missing man, and I contacted you immediately."

"Joral, we will be coming to talk to this man," Woolsey told the alien leader. "Please, make sure he does not leave."

"Of course," Joral nodded. "I await your arrival, Atlantis."

The screen went blank, and Woolsey turned to the other three. "Be ready to go in ten minutes. And I want Dr McKay here, now."

* * *

When John woke, it was to a frantic mind, a fast heart and an empty hospital room.

He sat upright, taking deep breaths, looking around. The place was quiet. Too quiet for his liking. He wondered how much time had passed since the doctor had drugged him. Not that he felt like he had been drugged. He felt aware.

And he was aware he wasn't sticking around here.

Glancing out into the hall, and finding it deserted as well, he pulled the IV from his hand, and the leads off his chest, wincing as he did so. But he was out of them, and after quickly switching off the machine making loud noises, he tiptoed over to the cupboard. He heaved a sigh of relief as he found his own clothes, and quickly dressed. He had to get out of here, before the doctor, or Dave, got back.

He wasn't really sure where he was headed once he got out of the hospital, but he heaved a sigh of relief once he left the car park in his dust. He had to go somewhere. Anywhere. But where? To who? Who would believe him, that something in his world wasn't right? Who would believe him that Dave was not who he said he was? Shaking his head, he broke into a jog. Before he knew it, he was running, and he let his fast feet take him where they pleased.

He wasn't really surprised when he ended up at the police station.

He walked in fast, and nodded at the guys on the front desk, ignoring their frowns. He knew he looked pale, and dusty, and sweaty. But he had to talk to Carter. Carter would believe him. He had to.

He went up the stairs, and down the corridor, struggling to remember from the last time he had been here. He walked fast, panting a little now, his body not used to exercise. But he slammed open the doors and looked around the room.

He ignored all the stares of his workmates. He felt nauseas as he realised he could only place half of them, if that, and began to wonder if he had really done the right thing in coming here.

But the thought fled from his head as he spotted Carter and marched over. "We need to talk."

Carter didn't say a word as John dragged him towards his office, shutting the door hard behind them. Only then did the detective shrug out of Sheppard's grip, and turn to face him with an anxious look.

"Sheppard, what's wrong? You look like shit?"

John shook his head. "Something's wrong," he told his friend. "I mean... really wrong?"

"What?" Carter demanded, needing to know the facts. "John, you need to explain it to me."

"That's just it!" John snapped, closing the blinds. He didn't want any of them to see him. "I can't. I don't know what it is. Just... everything's wrong. With Dave, with his place, with the hospital! With everything!"

He felt dizzy. He took a deep breath and groaned, leaning down on a chair. The world was spinning around him.

"Where the hell is Vaiko!"

John flinched at the shout, and looked up at Carter, wondering why the man had shouted. "Who the hell is Vaiko?" No, he remembered that name. He stood up straight, frowning. "Who is he, Carter?"

"What?" the detective demanded. "I have no idea... John, I think you should sit down."

"No." He said it coldly, ice in his voice. "No. I really don't think so. What I need is answers."

"Answers to what?" Carter cried, spreading his arms. "You haven't asked me any questions!"

Hadn't he? "Atlantis," he breathed. "What did you find out -."

"Someone better find that scientist or there will be hell to pay!"

The voice cut him off, but Carter hadn't noticed. Hadn't heard it. Was the voice in his head again? He felt the colour drain from his face as the older detective sighed and shook his head.

"John, I told you. There is no such thing as Atlantis."

No. "No!" John shook his head, backing away. "I know there is. I know it!" He paused, and suddenly it hit him. "You're lying to me too. You're not... none of this is real!"

Carter's jaw dropped. "What?" he snorted. "None of this is... John, trust me. This is real. You're just sick. You need help." He stepped forward, hand out.

John backed away again, slapping the offer away. "No. No!" He swallowed, looking around. Was any of this real? Was it all a lie? Was he awake, or was his real body in the world of shouts, and a scientist named Vaiko?

"Somebody stabilise him now!"

The shout echoed in his ears, so loud he tried to shut it out, but he couldn't. The voice reverberated around his head, and when he could finally look up, eyes watering, Carter was by his side, hand on his back.

"John, listen to me, you need... John? Please, calm down. You're stressing yourself out."

Skin crawling, Sheppard stood up straight and pushed the older man away, moving quickly to put the desk between them. "No. I'm not listening to you. You and Dave... what are you doing to me?"

"John, please." Carter tried it in a soothing voice, but Sheppard wasn't having any of it. "Just, take a breath, okay?"

"No!" he snapped, looking around. "What's... what the hell is going on?"

He was dizzy again. So dizzy he leaned over, hands on knees, gasping for breath. Something was wrong. Something was not right. Carter was yelling at him, calling his name, but the words sounded muffled in his ears. A hand on his back made him flinch.

"NO!"

This time John screamed it, unable to take it anymore. He stood up, shoving the dizziness away and yanking Carter's gun from his holster.

Carter went tense as he found his own gun pointed at his head.

"John, what are you doing?" he asked quietly, putting his hands up. "Think about what you're doing?"

"No," John heaved, panting deeply, unable to catch his breath. A knock came at the door, and then it rattled as someone tried to get in. "Because if I think, it all goes away. It's so hard, Carter. I know things, I know I do." The rattling at the door became more insistent. "But they're tiny fragments at the edge of my mind. And if I lose myself for a second, I can see them. But the moment I concentrate, the moment this world pulls me away from my own mind... it's gone, as if it were never there, just back to tiny fragments."

The whole door shook fiercely, and John knew he didn't have much time. He looked from the door back to Carter, who had gone pale. John, on the other hand, suddenly felt much calmer than he had since he had since Dave had taken him home.

"But I know. None of this is real." He cocked the gun, took a deep breath, head up high, dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. "And I'll prove it to you."

And he pulled the trigger.

* * *

Huh... Didn't see that coming...

See you tomorrow night!


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Wow, the last chapter excited a nice response! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Here's the next chapter, hopefully it's just getting more and more exciting!

Now, just in case you forgot... last chapter ended with John trying to kill someone...

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Chapter 8

Carter fell, lifeless, a bullet between his eyes, even as the frantic people at the door finally got through. They stumbled through, all blank, unfamiliar faces, looking from the dead detective on the floor, to the gun in John's hand, to the dazed look on his face.

And they all pulled their weapons. In unison, as one, so in time that John felt a cold chill run over his spine. He took a step back, even as sirens sounded. Not police sirens. He couldn't place these sirens, and they sounded far away.

No one else seemed to hear them.

"You're not going to get away with this, Sheppard." The officers, still in unison, speaking as one, stepping forward as one, they all cocked their guns. As one.

And for the second time in a minute, a large shot sounded out in the room.

Sheppard jerked backwards, pain flaring in his shoulder as he fell over the desk. He stayed down, knowing, instinctively, that the officers hadn't moved.

"What was that? What's going on in that head of his? Someone tell me or they'll lose their head!"

Sheppard ignored the voice, and eyed the window. He knew there was a fire escape out there. He could make it. Even with a bleeding shoulder, and voices in his head, he could make it.

He ran.

Shots followed him, but not one hit him. And then he was diving through glass, landing hard on the grill of the fire escape. It had been too easy, his run, but he didn't care, as he staggered to his feet, and slid down the ladder to the pavement below.

He didn't bother looking up, knowing they would be staring, as one, out the window. He knew what he had to do now. He needed to get answers. Some straight answers.

And there was only one person who could do that.

* * *

Teyla did not like this place.

Not that she thought she should. It was dark, shadowy, lit sparsely by flickering lights, a siren wailing in the distance. It had a dark feel, as well. More than just an absence of light. To her, it felt like it had an absence of anything that was good, and natural.

But according to their guide, this narrow, dark, rank, death-ridden hole would be where they would finally find Sheppard, after these past two weeks.

So she ignored the stench, the cold, the siren and the chill she felt down her spine, and followed the group silently.

The man who had contacted them had introduced himself as Vaiko. He claimed to be a scientist, and Rodney had not been around to refute that claim. In fact, the doctor had been noticeably absent the entire time since Vaiko had contacted them through Joral. Both Mr Woolsey and Chuck were confident he knew what was happening; he just couldn't do it.

Teyla understood, though she had the feeling she was outnumbered in that sentiment. But Rodney had been hurt badly by these people. She was not sure she would have wanted to come back if she had endured what he had.

Not that this was the same place Rodney had been in. But Vaiko claimed that Sheppard had been here the whole time, a prisoner. He had also said that the Colonel was alive. And that was all he had said.

None of them doubted that this could be a trap. But Teyla didn't think so. They were deep in the heart of the facility now. And besides, Woolsey had sent them with a small army, and half a dozen jumpers to back them up.

Still, that chill down her spine was not leaving, and she wished Vaiko would hurry up and bring them to John.

She eyed her surroundings as they crossed an intersection, but the hallways of this building seemed conspicuously empty, especially considering the siren that was telling of their presence. And apparently Ronon was thinking the same thing.

"Where is everybody?" he demanded quietly, and Vaiko shook his head nervously.

"I do not know. I thought we would have come across someone by now." He shook his head again, glanced back. "But we are nearly there. And then you will find use for your weapons."

Vaiko hadn't been lying. Within three more turns he stopped, outside a large set of double doors, made of a metal like iron. Teyla stood up straighter, heart beat steadying. It had to be steady. It had to be. For John.

Vaiko turned to them. It didn't look like his heart beat was steady at all. In fact, he looked like he was about to be sick. "Please... before we go in... I was only following orders. I did not know what..." He paused, looked down, ashamed. "I did not know."

Teyla's heart betrayed her for the slightest second, while the men around her shifted. Ronon growled. "What the hell does that mean?"

Vaiko flinched. "You will not like what you find."

"Just open the doors," Lorne ordered, his voice tense, shoving the P90 harder into the nook of his shoulder. Again, the men shifted as Vaiko placed a hand on the door, and pushed.

The men moved immediately, rushing forward. Teyla followed them, not shouting like they did, but switching her light on, storming in, searching for a target, a raised weapon, anything that would give her an excuse.

What she found made her breath catch, and she let her aim drop as silence fell around her.

It took her a moment to recognise Sheppard. Beneath the bruises, the blood, the pale face, the cuts and scrapes and marks, covering his face, his arms, his naked torso, the blood on his clothes. They had tortured him. Just like they had done to Rodney.

But the bruises were faded, the blood dry. He was still dangling, limply from the chains keeping his feet just from touching the ground, and beneath him was a pool of mess that Teyla didn't even want to describe.

And all over his head were thin leads, like wire, attached to his very skin, no going through his skin, a part of his skin, fused to his head. The leads led away from him, to a dull grey machine, hideous and large, like nothing she had ever seen before on Atlantis, or Earth, lacking a mature grace about it. They were ugly. It was all ugly, a machine like nothing she had ever seen before, attached to John. Her John, their John, their friend, comrade, leader.

"Get it off," she snapped, feeling herself losing control of her tightly held nerves. "Get it off!"

She rushed forward, not knowing what she was doing, just that she couldn't leave John in that for another moment. And her movement triggered the others.

Lorne, his face darker than she had ever seen on him before, he swung his gun, knocking the closest filth covered man down and out. His men moved forward, surrounding the captors, yelling at them to get down on their knees, to stay down or they would blow their brains out. Teyla wasn't sure they wouldn't anyway.

Not that she saw much. She just raced forward, gun dropping, hands reaching out for the leads.

"No!" someone cried out, racing forward as well. Teyla only sensed a threat and spun, P90 coming up, light shining in the eyes of Vaiko.

"Get him out," she ordered evenly, her voice ice cold. The scientist licked his lips and shook his head.

"I cannot," he told her. "I tried. Before I came to you, I tried. It will not let him go."

"What the hell do you mean, it will not?" Lorne demanded, coming over now he knew the men were secure. "It's a machine. Switch it off!"

"I cannot!" Vaiko repeated. "I... It is more than a machine. You should know that! It's Ancestor technology, you should recognise it!"

Teyla looked around, studying it. "Nothing on Atlantis looks like that," Lorne muttered, sharing her appraisal. But then the major shrugged. "It could be an early model though."

"It does not mean it does not have an off switch," she reminded them both. "Where is this one's?"

"I told you, I tried!" Vaiko explained. "But... I do not understand. It should not have worked like this... According to what I had read, it should not have."

There was a pause. "Are you saying you had not used this before?" Teyla demanded.

A beep cut off Vaiko's answer, and all three spun to look at the monitors, gazes raking over Sheppard's body as they did. A second beep joined the first, and then a third, closer, faster, beep after beep. Vaiko's face, if possible, went paler.

"What?" Lorne demanded, moving forward with the scientist. "What is it? What's happening?"

The beeps came faster, and Vaiko quivered. "I believe... I think he is dying."

Lorne shared a desperate look with Teyla. "We must get him back to Atlantis," she told him, stating the obvious. "And fast."

* * *

John wasn't sure how he made it to Dave's house. After all, he had a bullet in his shoulder, and he was either spectacularly crazy, or spectacularly clever. He didn't think he was crazy. No, he knew he wasn't. He knew. This was not real.

It was like a mantra he kept repeating in his head, over and over. And he was determined to find answers.

So maybe it shouldn't have come as so much of a surprise when he pushed on Dave's front door with a bloody hand, and entered the house where it had all begun for him.

He walked on through, knowing, instinctively, that his brother would be waiting for him in the lounge room where they had had so many chats. Chats that had been fake. A room that was fake. He was sure of it.

Dave was just getting off the phone when John walked silently in. The younger Sheppard paused by the door, leaning against the frame, just watching his older sibling for a moment. And finally Dave noticed he wasn't alone anymore, turning and jumping off the couch.

"John! What are you..." He trailed off as he spotted the gun still in his hand. "So they weren't lying," he breathed quietly. "You really did kill Carter."

John pushed off the frame and walked in, shaking his head. "Bit hard to kill something that doesn't exist."

"Doesn't ex..." Dave shuddered. "John, why don't you put the gun down, and we'll talk about this, okay?"

Well, he never had been one for taking orders. He raised the gun instead, and Dave flinched, putting his hands up. "John, what are you doing?"

"Getting answers," the younger man answered. "You need to tell me the truth, Dave."

He cocked the gun, taking a step forward. Dave took a step back and licked his lips. "What did you want to know, little brother?"

"Stop pretending," John snapped. "I know, okay! I know, none of this is real. It's all in my head, and you are not my brother!"

"Really?" Dave demanded, chancing a look at the gun. "Cause you sure look like my brother."

"Apparently looks can be deceiving," Sheppard let him know. "All this time, you looked like you were helping me... what were you really doing?"

"Not my job," Dave answered glibly. "John... please, can we talk about this without the gun. Like we used to."

He felt his heart clench, and before he knew it, he had pulled the trigger again.

The only problem was, Dave didn't even jerk as the bullet hit his shoulder. Oh, red bloomed, and he looked down at the wound. But when he looked back... he grinned.

John's jaw dropped, and his heart pounded again. This time he grunted, bending slightly. When he looked back, Dave was closer, and his hands were down.

"Oh, what's the matter, little brother?" he asked, sneering. "Not feeling so well."

"Get back!" John cried, doing as he had ordered, stumbling back, bringing the gun up again as his heart pounded. It pounded and pounded, and the world was going dull. "What are you doing to me?"

"Me, nothing," Dave answered, stepping forward. "But this whole crazy business you have going on seems to be taking a toll, little brother."

"I'm not your little brother!" John screamed. "Stop lying to me! Stop it! What are you doing to me! What's Atlantis? Who the hell is McKay? And why am I in a world that isn't real?"

"Got it all figured out, huh?" Dave asked, grinning. "You think you're so clever. But you're wrong." He leaned forward. "There is no McKay."

"Stop..." John warned, standing up straighter, face strained as his heart continued pounding, desperate to break out of his chest.

Dave leaned closer, whispering. "I'm not doing anything to you."

"Stop it!"

"Atlantis doesn't exist, John," he breathed, and John took a step back again. His back rammed into the wall.

"Stop lying to me!" he screamed, hand shaking on the gun as it pointed at his older brother's face and shape.

"All this... all this is real, John. All this is real, little brother!"

"STOP IT!"

But his scream was drowned out and before he even realised what was happening, his brother was on the ground, and an extra hole peered out of his forehead.

There was silence, broken only by John's heaves as he tried to breathe through the chest pain. But it was a different kind of chest pain this time. What had he done? What if this...

"No..." he whispered, as the gun dropped from his hand, feeling sick, nauseas, dizzy. He couldn't breathe. "No! Dave!"

He raced forward, knocking a chair out of the way as he rushed to his brother's body, picking it up, cradling it as he tried not to stare at the hole in the middle of his brother's head. "Oh God, Dave! No, no, no, no, no! Dave!"

What had he done? How could he... how could he have killed his own brother? Just pulled the trigger, and... and... "No! No, I didn't... oh, God, I'm so sorry! I'm so..."

He turned and vomited, crawling away from Dave's cooling body as he brought up nothing but acid and guilt. He kept vomiting, just thinking about how he had killed his brother... it was enough to set him off again, and again, until he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except sit there on all fours and let tears stream down his face onto the ground.

Two hands on each of his arms made him jump. He looked around, saw men in white coats storming the room. And the chest pain quickly turned from grief to panic.

"NO!"

But the hands hauled him upright, and began dragging him backwards, feet kicking against the carpet. They dragged him away, away from his brother. "No, let me go! Let me go! No! Dave, no!"

But the hands were too strong, and the room faded from view, and his heart pounded, causing him to screw his eyes tight as the fire spread throughout his entire chest.

And when he opened them again, he was on his back, moving over uneven ground, jerking, jolting; his entire body was on fire, and head felt ready to explode.

Whatever he was on suddenly stopped moving, and a loud, incredulous voice cut through the pain he was feeling. "Major!"

A face appeared in his blurry vision, quickly replaced by another two faces, a man and a woman. He had seen that woman somewhere. And those dreads...

He tried to speak, to say anything about the familiarity suddenly washing through him, but found he couldn't, so they spoke for him, their mouths moving. But no sound came out, and he blinked once, wondering if that would work.

And he was back, kicking and screaming as people dragged him away, out of the house, into the street, where people watched with horror and sick fascination.

"No!" he screamed, struggling with all his strength. He tried to get up onto his feet, tried to fight back, but they just kept on dragging him. Dragging him to his own private hell.

The world blinked this time, and the sickened faces were replaced with anxious ones, surrounded by a deep blue he knew. He knew that blue. A part of him called for that blue.

Words reached him this time. "John. Can you hear me? John? Are you with us, Jo-?"

The world blinked, and he was dragged up, off the rough ground and into a van. But the dragging didn't stop there as the door slammed close, sending him into darkness.

Light appeared, and the room was magnificent. He knew this room. He knew this place. His soul knew this...

The world didn't so much blink as falter, sinking back into a long white hallway. And still he kicked and screamed, desperate this time not so much to stop the men taking him, but to get back to what he knew was home. He knew it!

"Let me go, no, stop it, stop it! I'm not... Stop! Please, stop!"

And he tried for that room, for that song, for his call on his soul. But he got only one flash, one unsteady flash, of blue and green, and soaring ceilings, and...

It disappeared behind a white door, and suddenly he was alone. The hands on his arms let go, and he raced forward, desperate to catch that closing door, knowing if he didn't, he would be stuck here, in this white cell, forever.

But his fingertips only just brushed the edge, and that song was gone, leaving him empty and desolate.

"No..." he muttered, agony welling up inside him. "No! No, no, no, no, no!"

And then he was kicking at the door, punching and clawing and screaming, and he didn't even notice when someone grabbed his shoulder, except that he was turning, and a fist was coming his way.

His jaw exploded into physical pain and he went down, slipping down the white door, blackness clawing at the edges of his vision. And as he succumbed, not sure what else he could do, he finally decided he must be crazy.

Because the face that had knocked him out had been his own.

* * *

Hmm, has the shit hit the proverbial fan... Guess you'll find out tomorrow...

Question: How do people feel about... werewolves?


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** My bad about last night, had a friend's 21st. There was much revellry and champagne... So I had an awesome time!

Anyways, here's chapter 9!

**

* * *

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Chapter 9

Ronon couldn't help but stare.

It was strange. Stranger than any film Sheppard had shown him. Sadder than any of them. More frightening than any of them. And only partly because this was real life.

The other part, the bigger part, was the fact that it was Sheppard. Larger than life, take any hit, never give up Sheppard. Lying there, as still as stone, in that stark white hospital bed, not even breathing on his own. No, one of Jennifer's machines did that for him. And it was so surreal, so odd, so terrifying... for the first time in his life, Ronon didn't know what to do, didn't know who to turn to. Because usually in these kinds of situations, he turned to Sheppard.

Teyla stood beside him, Lorne on his other side, Woolsey on hers. And they all stared across the infirmary at the bed, not saying a word as the doctors worked at getting Sheppard comfortable.

Or as comfortable as they could when that damn Ancient machine kept getting in the way.

Taking Vaiko's advice, they hadn't removed it. No, they'd brought the damn thing back to Atlantis, careful not to yank on any of the leads. They had sent it into surgery with him, hours ago. And now they were going to find out everything they could about it from Vaiko. The scientist had found his notes and research, and brought it back to Atlantis with him. Even now, Zelenka was going through it with him.

They still couldn't find McKay. But hopefully...

Suddenly the nurses paused, Jennifer going still as she stared at a machine. Not the Ancient one, but an Earth one. Ronon had no idea what it did, but whatever it was saying, it wasn't good. Because a second later Jennifer was walking over to them, and Ronon squared his shoulders, preparing himself for the long list of injuries Sheppard was going to have to overcome before he could be called healthy again.

Jennifer's eyes welled up as she reached them, staring at them all, and refusing to give up to her tears. She braced herself as well, licked her lips, took a deep breath, and,

"I don't know what happened... But he's... he's lost all brain function."

Lorne let out a sharp breath, like he had been kicked in the guts. Woolsey's jaw dropped. "But you just put him through surgery. You were in there for three hours. Why... Why?"

Jennifer shook her head. "He wasn't... when you brought him in, he was deteriorating. I didn't think... I didn't think he would deteriotate this... this far."

"It's impossible," Lorne spoke up, sounding desperate. "No... no, we found him, he can't... When we found him, he was waking up!"

"I know," Keller answered softly. "But... Okay, I don't know, major. But it's happened."

"Did we do something to the machine when we pulled him out?" Lorne sounded sick as he asked.

Keller slowly shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, major! I wish I did, because then..." She trailed off and sighed.

Teyla was pale on the other side of him, Woolsey, speechless.

"What do you mean, brain function?" Ronon demanded. It couldn't be what he thought. Not Sheppard.

Keller shuddered. "It means his brain activity had stopped. Over the past three hours, his brain activity has just stopped. He cannot breathe on his own. He can't do anything on his own. That machine is keeping him alive for us, but he won't ever wake up."

"And when you say ever?" Teyla asked, her voice shaky, tears in her own eyes. She knew what it meant as well as Ronon did.

"I mean, barring a miracle... Colonel John Sheppard is... is gone."

"But it's the Pegasus Galaxy," Lorne cut in. "We have miracles all the time!"

"Not... Not from this, major. I'm sorry. But he is dead." She took a deep breath, let a tear slip, before going on. "What we have to decide now is... are we going to keep him artificially alive?"

Ronon felt like he had been kicked in the guts. "No."

Woolsey sighed. "Ronon, legally, it is not up to you. Colonel Sheppard's brother must be contacted. He is the one who will decide."

"No, I mean, no, we're not giving up on him that easily. Not yet." He glared down at the doctor, unable to help himself. "There has to be something. And we're going to find it."

Beside him, Teyla nodded, her face determined. Ronon crossed his arms, and glanced across at Sheppard's bed.

"We're going to find McKay."

* * *

When John opened his eyes, he wasn't actually sure that he had. True, white stared back at him instead of black, but it was all he could see. An ocean of white.

Slowly it morphed into a ceiling, and he rolled over on the soft surface he was lying on. White wall met his eyes, and memory hit him.

He leapt to his feet, and spun around, heart beating frantically. White was all he saw. White, everywhere. No seams, no lines, no shadow. Just soft, almost translucent white.

He raced forward to a section of wall, banging his palms against it, as if that would simply push it over and he would be free. It had no effect: his hands made a dull thump, and he kicked out instead, banged his fists, and screamed out. There was no response.

He took a deep breath. "Hey!" he called out, backing into the centre of the room, looking around. "Hey, is anyone out there? Answer me!"

Soft laughter made him spin again, and suddenly Dave was standing in his cell.

John backed up, feeling nauseas. "No." He swallowed, hard, and shook his head. "No... No, I killed you."

Dave jumped. "Oh, of course. I forgot." His head snapped back, quickly, almost to the point of breaking. And then he slowly brought it back. John's stomach twisted at the hole that had reappeared in his brother's forehead. "Is that better?"

John shook his head, more slowly this time. "You're not real."

The older man snickered. "What gave that away? My charm, or the gaping hole through my skull?"

John felt his stomach twist again, through an anxious fear this time. "This isn't really a hospital."

It was a statement, not a question, but Dave grinned: it didn't reach his cold, cold eyes. "No. It isn't."

"None..." He took a deep breath, unable to believe he had actually been right. Unable to believe that... "None of this is real."

"No."

He took another step back, hit the wall. "What is this?"

"This?" Dave – not Dave – demanded, looking around. "This is your existence, from now on, until forever."

John swore he stopped breathing. "You're not my brother," he snarled quietly, anger forming in his gut, his heart. "I don't know what you are, but don't you dare be my brother!"

The... thing had the nerve to look mock surprised. And then it blurred. It shifted, colours blended, outlines hazed, and in a second Carter was standing where Dave had, matching bullet hole in his head and all.

John took a step forward. "Don't," he warned. Carter laughed.

"Is this..." It blurred again, and a woman with dark brown curly hair stared smugly at him. "Better?" It cocked her head. "But of course... you don't know her." It blurred into another woman, lighter haired and darker skinned. "Or her." It blurred into a man, as unfamiliar as the women, stocky, short brown hair. He sneered. "You're hopeless, Sheppard," he – it muttered as it changed into a taller, dreadlocked man, and then quickly into a shorter man with a lot less hair. "You don't know any of them."

A younger, darker man, one eye black; a blond woman; a gray-haired man. "If you don't know us, Sheppard." A man with a Scottish accent blurred into place. "How can you say we're real?" And suddenly Dave was back, minus the extra hole. "Or that we're not?"

Sheppard's back had hit the wall again before he even realised he was moving. He felt faint, dizzy, nauseas, not knowing if he could cope with the fact that everything he knew was a lie. That everything he knew wasn't real. "Stop it," he breathed. "Stop it now."

Dave chuckled. "Come on, little bro. Am I real, or aren't I?"

"You're not!" John snapped. "So stop wearing his face!"

Dave stared across at him, face unreadable. And then he blurred again. And suddenly Sheppard was staring at his own face.

"Fine then," other Sheppard shrugged. "How about this?"

"What are you doing to me?" John demanded. "Let me go, now."

"No." It was said immediately, sharply. "That is not going to happen."

"Why not?" John asked, frowning. He shook his head. "This isn't real. And I need to be real. I need to be out there."

"And why is that?" the other him asked, grinning. He paused, waiting for an answer he knew he wasn't going to get. "That's right. You don't remember." It scowled suddenly. "You're not going back out there, John. You don't deserve to be free."

"What?" John snapped, stepping forward, fists cracking. "Who the hell are you to decide that?"

The other one grinned at him, raised an eyebrow. "Don't you get it, Sheppard? I'm you."

Sheppard looked up, studied his own cold face, shook his head, denying it. "No, you're not. You're not even real."

"I'm as real as every other thought you've ever had," it told him lightly. "I am you, Sheppard. I'm the you that you created to avoid giving everything away to those bastards."

"I what?" John demanded, feeling dizzy at the thought. "I... did not. I wouldn't do that to myself. I wouldn't trap myself."

"Well, not you. Not just you." The other John shrugged. "You, your ATA gene, and that nifty little machine those men had." He paused. "Not that you remember your ATA, or those men." He scowled with frustration. "Not that you haven't been trying. And I've had to stop you." He shook his head. "You manipulate your own mind to keep..." He paused, grinned. "You know what... Never mind. Because it doesn't matter. All that matters is I'm the you that you created so that machine wouldn't rip your mind apart, and give those men all the answers they wanted without you even realising it."

"You're lying," John denied. "This is all in my head."

"Well, that's true," the other him admitted with an amused sneer. "So deep inside your head that no one even realises you're still in here. But you know I'm not lying, John. You know. And you know this is for the best."

"Bullshit!" Sheppard snarled. "I'm going to get out of here. I'm not staying in here forever. You'll have to kill me."

"Well, let's not go to extremes," the thought, or image, or whatever he was answered. "I don't intend to kill you. I kill you, I kill myself. And I'm having fun in your head. But you're not getting out of here. Want to know why?" It chuckled. "Because you have no idea what to go back to. You don't remember anything... You don't know what's out there, and that keeps you more trapped than anything I can do."

The thing paused again, and then grinned lopsidedly. "Word of advice. Calm down. Relax. Take a break. I'm in control, and if you keep fighting me, I'll have to do something... drastic. You have no help, and you have nothing to fight for. Somewhere in that thick skull of yours, you knew this was the only way. So stop fighting yourself, and see this for what it is. A release of your burden. Because you'll never have to worry. About anything else." It chuckled and then faded away, its last words echoing through the white cell. "Ever again."

It disappeared completely, and John slid down the wall, his legs giving way. He took a deep breath, feeling angry, and frustrated, but most of all, defeated. Because he knew. He wasn't getting out of this one. Because he... the other he, had been right.

He wanted to fight, but he had no idea what he was fighting for.

* * *

McKay knew he should have gone down to the infirmary.

He paced in his room, wringing his hands, deep in thought. Not that he could really keep track of his thoughts, they were moving that fast. But they mostly centred on the fact that he should have been down in that infirmary. He should have gone on that mission. He should have rescued Sheppard.

Just like Sheppard had rescued him.

He didn't remember much of it. He had been mostly unconscious, and concussed, and bleeding, after all. But he remembered enough. He remembered he had been saved. And Sheppard had been caught.

Which meant he didn't deserve to be down in that infirmary. He couldn't be down there. It was physically impossible for him to move past the door, knowing that beyond it, somewhere, was Sheppard. He didn't deserve to be down in that infirmary, and most of all, Sheppard didn't deserve for him to be down there. Sheppard didn't deserve a friend that got him caught, and tortured, and almost killed.

He paused and turned to stare at his door, licking his lips. Then he shook his head, turned back to his pacing. And stopped again when the door chimed.

He collapsed onto the bed, not answering. He didn't even make a noise when someone began pounding on the door.

"McKay!"

It was Ronon. He had been expecting Teyla. How long since he had even spoken to them, over the radio, or face to face? How long since they had dragged him the rest of the way through that wormhole while John's voice had shouted over the radio for them to shut the thing down? He remembered that.

He jumped again as Ronon pounded on his door, breaking his thoughts. McKay took a deep breath. And didn't answer.

"McKay!" Ronon snapped. Loudly. Rodney flinched. "I know you're in there, dammit! Answer me!"

There was a massive silence, and then it sounded like the Satedan kicked the door. "McKay, we're coming in whether you like it or not."

Another pause, and suddenly Rodney heard shuffles at the door. Tiny noises. He gasped. "Stop!" he shouted. "No!"

They were breaking in. "Go away!" he screamed, making it half way to the door before he stopped. But all his shouting, and all his fear was no use.

The doors opened, and there they stood. Zelenka looking guilty. Teyla looking determined, obviously struggling to remain her usual serene self.

And Ronon looking murderous.

The Satedan stormed in, and from the quick glance McKay got at Teyla's jaw drop this hadn't been part of the plan. But then Ronon had grabbed him, and had thrown him out into the corridor.

"Hey!" Rodney shouted indignantly, using the wall to scramble to his feet. "Tortured man he..."

Ronon's eyes... he had never seen Ronon look at him like that. Wraith, Genii, Replicators, for sure. But never him. "Ronon, please..."

The beg made the taller man growl. "Ronon!" Teyla warned, reaching forward to touch his arm. He slapped her gesture away.

"You ungrateful little..." The Satedan snarled as he grabbed McKay's jacket again. McKay grabbed him back, but he didn't even bother trying to remove it: it would have been like removing a truck.

"Ronon!"

The Satedan didn't hear her. Or rather, he did, but he ignored her again as he leaned in, face tight. "You're seeing him whether you like it or not."

It was a rough journey to the infirmary. McKay kicked and screamed, and he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop Ronon, as much as he tried, giving the Satedan a few scratches and bruises. He ended up with more bruises himself – none intentional. Even now, when Ronon hated him, he wouldn't dare hit him... not after what he had gone through.

Besides despite the bruises, the fist in his jacket, he didn't feel the pain. No, he felt humiliated at the crowd that watched them walk by, Ronon all but dragging him across the floor. He hadn't seen these people in weeks, hadn't wanted to, and he couldn't let them see him like this. But he couldn't stop himself. He knew where they were headed.

Everyone in the infirmary dropped what they were doing as Ronon barged through the doors, dragging the reluctant McKay behind him. Teyla entered as well, a guilty, frustrated look on her own face. But very few noticed her. All they noticed was the Satedan who dragged McKay across the floor to the very end bed. And dropped him.

Rodney fell to the floor, not crying, the screaming given up. He just breathed hard, and refused to shift his gaze from the floor.

Ronon growled, and the noise seemed to echo in the silent infirmary. "Look at him!"

Rodney flinched, and took a deep breath, finally hearing the beeps of the machines, the whoosh of air going down the tube. He licked his lips and grabbed a hold of the blankets, hauling himself to his knees.

And slowly, so slowly that it felt as if hours passed, he looked up, across the bed, to his friend. His unmoving, pale, bruised, hurt friend.

And he swore he stopped breathing.

He scrambled to his feet, shocked at the sight before him, trying to back away and running into Ronon. The tube down John's throat, the leads attached to his chest, the IVs running into his arm. But like Teyla and Ronon before, nothing shocked him more than the leads attached to John's head. Or rather, the leads going into his head.

Finally remembering to breath, he followed the leads to the machine Sheppard was attached to. And he felt something stir in him, something he had been lacking ever since he woke up in the infirmary to the news that Sheppard had been captured saving his worthless ass.

It was anger, and loyalty, and hate, and passion, and it was emotion. And some of that numbness he had been feeling for the past two weeks slipped off.

"What the hell..." he whispered, moving around to the machine. "Is this... This is Ancient."

The entire infirmary seemed to take a breath but McKay barely heard them. He looked across at Ronon and Teyla. He didn't notice their relief either. Teyla nodded.

"That is what Vaiko says, yes."

"And you found him... you found him like this?"

"We couldn't get him out," Ronon told him. "Not without killing him."

Behind them all, Keller made a small noise, and Rodney looked around at her. "What?" He looked back at his team mates, sparing a quick glance at Sheppard. "What don't I know?"

Teyla glanced at Keller, who nodded. And then Teyla sighed. "John is... he is brain dead, Rodney."

He almost went numb again. But he fought, fought to hear the words, fought to keep them in his mind where he wouldn't lose himself forever. He couldn't do that again. Not even willingly. "No."

"Yes, Rodney," Keller told him. "That's why Ronon went to find you. To say... to say goodbye."

"Why?" McKay demanded, spinning to face her, and finding Woolsey as well. "Where's he going?"

"Back to his family," Woolsey told him gently. "Back to Earth. So they can decide... can..."

Despite the faltering words, McKay understood. "No." He sucked in a deep breath. "No! No, we're his family, and I'm not letting him... He saved me, I need to..."

"He's brain dead, Rodney," Keller reminded him. "He's already dead."

The words sounded too blunt, too quickly, and McKay flinched. "No," he denied softly. "No. Give me time. I'll prove he's not dead." He could. He had to. Sheppard would not die because of him. "Where's this... what did you call him? Vaka? Vax?"

"Vaiko," Teyla told him. "His name his Vaiko. He is a scientist. He's in the mess hall."

McKay snorted before he could stop himself. "We'll see about that." He began walking backwards out of the infirmary, still shaking his head. "I'm not saying goodbye."

"We're coming," Ronon muttered, following. McKay stared at him, at his face, and eyes. And he knew, suddenly, that Ronon hadn't dragged him here to say goodbye. Not at all.

McKay nodded, and the three of them walked out with a new determination.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Soooo, thanks again to all the people who have reviewed! Sorry I'm still not getting the chance to reply, but I chose a very bad time to post - as in exam time, when all my assignments are due... sigh...

But even though I don't show it, know that I still love you all!

Um, here, have some answers!

**

* * *

**

Chapter 10

Sheppard growled menacingly at the room as he finally sat down, his entire body exhausted. He had searched the cell a dozen times over, running his hands over every inch of the smooth white surface, and still, he couldn't find anything. No door, no lock, no anything. It was just a white box, and apparently that... thing that looked like him had the only way in or out.

He growled, and banged his head back against the wall in frustration. He had quickly given up on the whole defeated attitude. He didn't know who he was, what he did, didn't know what was happening, or where he belonged. But his shame at the way he had hung his head after his image had disappeared made him sure he knew he wouldn't be giving up that easily.

He had no idea how much time had passed since then. It felt like forever in this tiny room. Good thing he wasn't claustrophobic. There, another thing he knew about himself.

He frowned, thinking about that. What did he know about himself? He knew he was stubborn and obviously not afraid of being trapped in a small box. He knew he was going to fight this. He was determined. He guessed that helped.

He knew that somewhere, out there, he had a home. He knew it. He didn't know its name, or what it looked like, or where it was. But it was out there.

And that was it. He didn't want to trust anything from _before_. Whatever it had been, it had been created by that thing that claimed to be him. He didn't want to believe he had lived in New York. Hell, he barely believed there was a New York. He didn't think he was a cop. And he didn't think he could really shoot his brother in the head.

If he had a brother.

Growling, he sprung to his feet. This line of thought was not doing him any good. He didn't want to think about that... hallucination. All he wanted to think about was getting out of here.

And there was only one thing that knew how to do that.

"Hey!" he shouted, not really sure what to call it. "Me, or whatever the hell you are!"

There was no answer and he moved to the centre of the room, looking up because it seemed like the right place to do it. "Hey, I know you're listening to me! I know you're out there! Answer me, dammit!"

Still nothing, and he gave a growl of frustration, spinning slowly, as if that would help. "Come down here and speak to me! I know you want to!"

Silence. "Hey!" he screamed, getting angry. "Get your ass down here right not! This is still my head!" He paused, and still, nothing. "I want to talk to you!"

"Get down here and -!"

* * *

The conference room was tense.

The only one who didn't notice was McKay. He was too busy rifling through Vaiko's notes, despite the fact that he couldn't understand the alien scientist's language. It had been why McKay had called this meeting – he needed to know.

Watching him, Teyla didn't know whether to be relieved or petrified. Finally, finally, they had Rodney back, at least, more than physically. And he was working on the problem, throwing himself completely and utterly into saving John.

And that was why she was terrified. Because if McKay failed, the colonel wouldn't be the only one they would lose.

Across the room, Ronon gave a small growl. Teyla didn't bother looking up – Ronon probably wasn't even aware he had done it. Again. But he was pacing, and working off steam, and that inevitably led to angry, frustrated growls from the big Satedan.

What it was doing was making Vaiko turn whiter and whiter. The small man was already sitting up still and dead straight in his seat, twitching every now and then, nervously aware that he was surrounded by Atlantians – angry Atlantians. He knew they wanted answers, and Teyla could tell he didn't know how they would go about getting those answers.

Vaiko jumped when the doors to the conference room suddenly started closing, as Woolsey and Jennifer silently joined them. The doctor looked exhausted, and defeated, but she sat up strong as she took her chair.

Woolsey, on the other hand, leaned heavily on his elbows, stuck a piercing glare on Vaiko, and skipped the small talk. "Start from the beginning."

The scientist licked his lips as Ronon sat down nearby, sparing a frightened glance for the taller man. "I have been a scientist for the Masarians for two years."

The Masarians. Teyla nodded. She hadn't heard of them but at least they had put a name to the faces waiting down in the cells, watched by half a dozen angry soldiers. She hoped the Masarians were scared.

"They recruited me, and almost immediately I began working on the Ancient device attached to..." He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and skipped the words he had been about to say."It took me eighteen months to even figure out what it was. The research I had was in the Ancestral language, and I had only basic knowledge of that."

At his words, Rodney looked up, a disgusted look on his face as he shoved the papers away. "So why the hell am I reading your notes?" he demanded.

"Because the Masarians would not let me keep those notes even over a night," Vaiko told him, his voice growing in pitch. "They are a nervous, paranoid people."

"And you were working for them because..." Ronon asked, his tone suggesting the scientist be wary.

"Because if the Masarians recruit you, you have little choice," Vaiko explained quietly. "Now, as I was saying, six months ago, I finally found out what the machine did."

"And what was that?" Woolsey asked.

"It creates a type of hallucination, in the mind of the..." he paused, searching for the right word.

"Prisoner?" Ronon supplied caustically. "Guinea pig? Victim?"

"In the mind of the prisoner," Vaiko used. "From what I could tell, an outside person could use the machine to suggest a scenario in which the prisoner would supply all answers by thinking them out in his hallucination."

"And how would the interrogator get the answers?" Teyla asked, entering the conversation for the first time.

"By a second interface," the scientist answered. "One that allowed the questioner to see the scenario playing out in the prisoner's mind. From what the Ancestral notes said, I gathered that it was supposed to be a painless form of interrogation, and also more efficient."

Rodney shook his head, face screwed up in the expression that suggested he was thinking hard. "Sounds far too like the Replicator form of interrogation for my liking," he muttered, looking around the table. "And that is definitely not painless."

"But this one may be," Keller told him. "From what I can tell, Colonel Sheppard isn't in any pain, and has not been for some time."

Teyla could tell the minute McKay bit back the retort that Sheppard wasn't feeling anything right now. Woolsey interrupted the tension that followed.

"So, six months ago," he prodded. "What happened?"

"I began to study the device itself. I had a much clearer picture of how I thought I could get it to operate now that I actually knew what it was." He sighed, dropped his head. "And then a week ago, Balnar, the commander of the Masarian base, he stormed into my laboratory demanding that I use the machine on a prisoner of his."

"Sheppard," Ronon figured. Vaiko nodded.

"So... what were they doing to him for the week before that?" McKay asked, going white. But the other scientist shook his head.

"That, I do not know." He suddenly shuddered. "Nor do I have the wish to. I wish I had never been in that room."

"You agreed to use this machine on Colonel Sheppard," Teyla stated coldly. "Yet at the base, you suggested that you had not used this machine on someone before."

Vaiko flinched. "I wouldn't say agreed," he told them. "I tried to get Balnar to reconsider, but he wouldn't listen. He said he didn't have the time to enjoy breaking him. He... he forced me to do it."

"What exactly happened?" McKay demanded, knowing they were getting to the bits he needed to know. Well, he needed to know more, more that he could get from Vaiko later. "I'm guessing it didn't work properly, or Sheppard wouldn't be a veg-." He paused, flinched. "Wouldn't be the way he is right now."

"No... no, I believe... I told Balnar that it hadn't worked in any of my simulations!" The scientist was a little desperate now. "But he said computers could only tell so much. And he made me do it anyway. I had no... I had no idea it was..."

There was a long pause, and finally Ronon stood back up, leaning over the smaller man. "You had no idea it was what?"

"Broken," Vaiko whispered, looking down at his shaking hands. "It was broken. I think. I don't... I don't really know what happened. Something that hadn't come up in any of the millions of simulations I ran. The system... took control, I believe. One of Balnar's top questioners was linked with your colonel when it was switched on, and he... his brain was fried. Not immediately. He fell unconscious though. And then he slowly began dying. It was... horrible." The man shuddered. "And your colonel... he also went unconscious, and he never woke up..."

Suddenly he paused, and then cocked his head. "No, I do not believe that to be true. He did wake up. Or tried to. I think... I believe he was aware, at times, that he was trapped in the hallucination."

"Wait, the hallucination still worked?" McKay demanded, sitting up straighter, frowning.

Vaiko nodded. "Yes. I mean, I cannot be sure, but I believe it did."

"He woke up on the way home, too," Teyla interrupted. "He opened his eyes, but he did not seem to be aware of what was happening."

"What does this mean?" Woolsey demanded, looking to Keller for an explanation. The doctor just shrugged helplessly though, so the expedition leader turned to McKay.

Rodney didn't seem to notice. He was just frowning heavily, staring at Vaiko's incomprehensible notes.

"The machine," he finally said, turning to the alien scientist. "Before you broke it. What exactly was it supposed to do?"

"I didn't -."

"Just answer the question!"

Vaiko snapped his mouth shut at McKay's shout, and paled slightly. "As I have already explained. It was supposed to allow the interrogation of a prisoner without either harming him, or letting him know what was happening. According to some notes, from when the Ancestors used it, the machine created a world within the mind of the prisoner, in which the questioner could suggest scenarios that would ultimately lead to the prisoner giving up the answers."

"So it is like the Replicators. Maybe a forerunner... Doesn't matter." McKay shook his head. "Obviously the prisoner had some sort of control. I mean, past the suggestions, his mind had to create the scenarios in order to answer the question."

There was a pause, a heavy silence. "I suppose," Vaiko agreed slowly. "But our questioner did not get a chance to suggest scenarios. He was killed."

"I know."

"What are you getting at, doctor?" Woolsey asked, leaning in.

Rodney shook his head again. "I don't know. Well, I mean, I do, but there's no evidence – it's pure conjecture."

"What is?" Ronon growled, quickly becoming impatient.

"I don't think it was the machine. I think Sheppard was the one took control. I think that with the machine broken, or whatever it was, Sheppard took control."

"But he's obviously trapped within the hallucination. Or was," Vaiko reminded him.

"I didn't say it worked well! This is Sheppard after all," McKay snapped. "But it's an Ancient device. It was broken. John has the Ancient gene. What if he used his gene to create some kind of... security protocol? So he couldn't answer questions about Atlantis?"

Woolsey and Keller both took a quick breath, leaning back in their seats. If McKay hadn't been so worried, he would have found it funny.

Ronon was shaking his head. "But he's safe now," he stated. "He's back in Atlantis."

"But he doesn't know that," McKay reminded him. "His brain function has stopped." He paused, frowned, and then added softly, "Or that's what it looks like."

Vaiko looked confused. "But your colonel... I saw him, when I attached him to the machine. He was unconscious most of the time, and when he wasn't, he was beyond lucid. How could he have done what you claim?"

McKay didn't answer, still deep in thought, so Teyla shrugged and answered the question for all of them. "Colonel Sheppard has withstood Replicator probing and Wraith queens before. And that fog, our first year here. He was the first to realise that reality was not real."

"It wasn't fog," McKay reminded her absently. "Jennifer, when did Sheppard's brain function actually stop?" He looked up, face pale. "Sometime during surgery? Or when you attached him to the machines that would keep him alive." Suddenly he frowned. "For that matter, was he really only in there for three hours? I was in there for... for nine, and I was only with those..."

"I can't be sure, but I'd say... some time between...," the doctor interrupted before McKay could finish his sentence. She was frowning as well. "And Sheppard didn't need nine hours of surgery."

"Because you were thinking he was already dead? Or close to it?" Woolsey clarified. Keller shook her head.

"No, because he had no injuries that warranted it. There was a fair amount of internal bleeding, but no big bleeds. No broken bones. A bullet wound on his shoulder that needed a little work. It was weird, actually. I mean there are signs of recent healing, and beyond all that, just a lot of bruising and cuts."

"It kept him alive..." McKay realised slowly. "It knew that the Masarians couldn't keep him alive, so it did... It really is like the Replicators... Sort of..." He shook his head.

And then he stood up, so fast that the chair spun out from underneath him and slammed into the wall. But by then McKay was already out of the conference room, running as if bullets were hounding his steps.

Teyla and Ronon didn't wait for confirmation. They shared a look and ran too, hard on McKay's trail. Within seconds the other three were after them as well, leaving the control room stunned as they watched their leaders running as if their lives depended on it.

McKay barely even realised he was being followed. He thought he might be, but he didn't think about that. He just sprinted as fast as he could to the infirmary.

He made his way there in record time. Well, record for him, he thought, as he skidded to a panting halt beside Sheppard's bed, eyes following the wires, the machines, the cords attached to the plug in the Ancient socket that was keeping Sheppard alive. And then he looked down at his friend, heart pounding, though out of more than breathlessness. He was shaking, nervous, hopeful he was about to do the right thing, and that he wasn't about to kill his friend. Somewhere in the background he could hear the nurses asking him if he was okay. He didn't answer, just leaned down over John, and took a deep breath.

"John... I'm really sorry. And if this doesn't work... well, knowing you, you'd just thank me anyway. But God I hope it does."

And then, taking another deep breath, he leaned over and pulled the plug.

* * *

"Get down here and -!"

Tightness gripped his chest, and Sheppard fell to his knees, struggling to breath. He panicked, hand clutching his chest as something slammed all the air from his lungs. He felt the blood drain from his face, his toes and fingers tingled. He drew a ragged breath, held himself off the floor with one arm. And as his vision blurred, wavered, and as he looked up at the hazy white wall, he wondered what the hell was going on.

* * *

"Doctor McKay, what the hell are you doing?"

The nurses seemed too stunned to move. Marie was white, looking at him like she didn't recognise him.

The beeping was loud in his ears, fast and warning, and he felt his heart beating in time to it. His breaths came hard and fast as he grabbed a scalpel off the nearest tray.

"Stay back," he warned anxiously, even as the infirmary doors crashed open again to reveal Teyla and Ronon. He turned to face them, hating the way their faces fell.

"Rodney, what have you done?" Teyla demanded in a stunned whisper as they both walked forward slowly.

"Stay back!" he warned again, flinching as Ronon pulled his gun out, his entire stance unsure as he levelled it at McKay's knees.

For a third time the infirmary doors slammed open and Woolsey, Keller and the scientist ran in, nearly running into Ronon and Teyla.

Keller looked like she was going to throw up all over her nice sanitised infirmary as she walked forward, mouth wide.

"Rodney... what are you doing?"

"Helping him," he promised, bringing the scalpel up higher. "Please, just..."

"Helping him?" Woolsey demanded. "You shut off his life support!"

* * *

Sheppard struggled to breathe. It was like the air was slowly being sucked out of this little room. But he could still tell when his image turned up, and he looked up at his own face, glaring.

"What the hell are you doing?"

It squatted beside him, and through the blurred vision, Sheppard suddenly realised the hallucination was look anxiously down at him. He managed a chuckle, even through the lack of air.

"This isn't you."

"No, it isn't!" it snapped. "What the hell are they doing? I searched your mind, and this possibility did not come up! Your mind told me they would do anything to keep you alive."

"Depends on how I'm alive," he told it, without thinking. Then he grinned. "You're not in control. Not completely."

* * *

"Like he'd want to be kept alive like this!" Rodney snapped back. "This is not Sheppard. Either way, this is helping him!"

"Rodney..." Teyla began, trailing off as the scientist looked at her with wide eyes.

"Teyla... Ronon... trust me."

Woolsey growled, and reached up to touch his radio. "Security team to the -."

"No," Ronon interrupted, moving forward and turning, aiming his gun at Woolsey. "Stop, now."

* * *

Sheppard knew there was a way out now. He knew that the thing wasn't in control. He could do this.

He staggered to his feet, and his twin stood up with a start, jaw dropping. "What are you doing?"

"Getting out of here."

"No, you're not," his double replied hoarsely. "You're stuck in here."

"No, I'm not," John told him, wincing with the pain in his chest. God, it was agony. But he couldn't think about that, not now. Now was his chance. "I'm leaving. This isn't real. And you can't stop me from leaving."

And he stumbled forward, pushing past the hallucination, or whatever it was, as easily as pushing past the air around it. And he put his hand out to hit the wall, just _knowing_ there would be a door there.

His hand hit the white wall, and the wall shook. He smiled triumphantly, and reached out subconsciously for the handle.

His palm touched cold metal, and he twisted, opening the door.

* * *

"Ronon!" Woolsey snapped. But the Satedan just backed up to stand next to Rodney. The scientist watched him warily, just in case this was a trick, but he didn't really think that it was. And then Teyla joined them, and the infirmary fell into quiet, the two sides facing off.

The only noise was the beeps of Sheppard's body shutting down, and Rodney twitched with every one, licking his lips as he turned back to his friend, hopeful that he hadn't just killed him.

And slowly the beeps died down, slowing, losing pace. And then they stopped, all together.

And McKay waited, holding his breath.

And he waited.

* * *

Sheppard looked out past the white wall, ignoring the deadly squeeze on his chest, walking, or staggering, he wasn't sure, because he looked out into the lake he knew from the other world. And he trusted that. Because it sang to him.

And he prepared to take a step.

"No!" the other him shouted. John didn't even look at it. "No, you will not escape! I promised that! I promised you! You are not getting out!"

And John's head exploded in light and agony, and he stumbled to his knees, falling through the doorway into darkness. The agony in his head increased, and he felt his world shattering as his mind did.

And he felt the hallucination push him out of the door, and he was falling.

A door slammed shut behind him, and he hit the ground, giving a wince as he rolled over. The agony in his head began to subside, and he blinked open wet eyes, flinching against the low light swinging above him. And then he frowned as familiarity washed over him.

A door opened with a loud squeal, and John rolled so he could see what was happening, feeling to sore and weak to do any more.

Three big men walked into his cell, the leader grinning sadistically. Sheppard's heart skipped a beat. He recognised that scar. He knew these men. He knew them all too well.

"No," he whispered. "No!"

"Oh yes, Sheppard," the leader spat. "Time for round two."

* * *

And McKay waited.

"No," he whispered as the silence continued. "Please. God, John."

He was going to be sick. Everyone had dropped their weapons now, and had turned to face the lifeless bed. Lifeless because of him.

"Oh, God!" He dropped his head to the bed

A beep.

McKay barely heard it at first. He was sure it was in his head. But he looked up anyway, up at Sheppard, up at that pale face.

A beep.

Keller gasped, running forward, shoving Ronon and Teyla out of the way, as a third beep sounded out from the machines. The doctor leaned over to study her patient, looking at the machines with a trained gaze. A fourth beep joined the others, and then a fifth. A sixth, coming faster and faster. More joined them, and McKay backed away as nurses swarmed the bed. But he didn't care. He could breathe again. Because John was breathing again. Not on his own, but something was beeping. It had worked. He hadn't killed the colonel.

Everyone who wasn't watching John was staring at him. Vaiko was looking at him like he had sprouted wings. Ronon and Teyla were just grinning at him.

Finally the beeps evened out, and Keller backed out of the mess of nurses and doctors. Sighting McKay, standing with Teyla and Ronon, she walked over, nodding.

"I don't know what you did, Rodney..."

"The program in the machine. It's designed to keep him alive."

"How did you know that?" Woolsey asked, joining them.

"I didn't," Rodney admitted with a heavy sigh. He felt like he was going to collapse from the release of all that anxiety. "I just... um, guessed. An educated guess!"

"Whatever it was, it worked," Jennifer told him. "He's back..." She trailed off then, frowned, looked back at the Colonel. "But he's still in trouble. He's back, but he's not out. Not by a long shot." She looked back at them and sighed with exhaustion. "He's back, but I still don't know how to help him."

* * *

... Didn't think I'd end it that easily, did you?


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Wow, we're actually almost finished... Sad face!

And now we can put on sad face for poor John, who's in a bit of a bind this chapter... okay, so he has been for the entire story!

I guess we'll just have to read the chapter...

**

* * *

**

Chapter 11

John winced as he was slammed back into the chair. That all too familiar chair. The chains were cold against his wrists, the hands rough against him as they jerked the manacles tight. And he just sat there, rigid, barely breathing, staring straight ahead. Keeping his gaze away from those all too familiar faces looming in at him, those sneering faces of the men who had captured him, and tortured him, and stuck him inside his own head.

He knew it had been them. He couldn't remember their faces, except that scar, couldn't remember names, but he knew it had been them. And now they were going to torture him inside his own head.

The men backed away, done, and John finally looked around, wishing he could regain that feeling – that one that had opened that door in that white room. But he couldn't. He even looked around, searching, but all he saw was his own personal nightmare. Literally. He could only see the walls of the dank, dark room, the stone walls and smell, and filth lying everywhere.

Someone walked towards him, and Sheppard glared up at his double. "Don't you dare do this. If you're me, you won't do this!"

The words slipped out before he could stop himself, and he found he didn't care. His breath was coming harder, his heart beating fast. He was scared. He knew what was coming, even if he didn't remember what had happened before.

But his double just shrugged. "I don't have any choice," it told him. "You... you just won't stop! Pushing and pushing against everything I'm doing, and the ironic thing is you started it all!" It shook his head at him, scowling. "I created a world where you could be happy. You saved lives, you solved crimes, you were getting a medal, you were _useful_! You had your brother, and if you'd given it time, I could have given you a great girl. What more could a man want? But no, you fought, and fought, and I gave you chance after chance to accept it, and live your life..."

It continued shaking its head. John just snorted. "Should tell you something. I'm not going to stop fighting this. And in the end, I'll win. "

"Unlikely." It sneered, looking around at the man with the scar. John flinched, his body remembering even if his mind couldn't. "You're going to forget about it. Everyone breaks, John. Even you."

And it disappeared into thin air, leaving John alone with the men who had done this to him in the first place. And there was nothing he could do about it.

It wasn't going to stop him from trying though.

* * *

"Rodney, you need to rest."

The sentence was short and soft, but it didn't stop McKay from jumping up in his chair, laptop nearly sliding off his legs in the process. He snapped his head around at Keller and shook it.

"Don't do that to me!" he muttered, heart beating a million miles a minute. He turned his head back to the laptop. "And I'm fine."

"You've been working on this for two days straight," Jennifer reminded him tersely. "Why don't you go help Zelenka and Vaiko on the blueprints."

"You know that's not exactly resting either," he told her, frowning at the energy readings. Again.

"Well, it would get you out of this damn chair," she snapped, before sighing and rubbing her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean that.

"Yes you did." He smiled sadly up at her. "And it's okay. I get it." He took his own sigh, looked across at John, still lying there, so still. "We're all worried about him."

"Not just -." A beeping cut her off. Nothing insistent, nothing alarming, but McKay sat up straighter, looked at the machine. Keller just tensed and leaned across to press a button. The beeping stopped.

"What was that?" McKay demanded when Jennifer didn't offer an explanation.

She looked like she wasn't going answer. Like she didn't want to answer. "Blood pressure," she muttered. "Heart rate. Brain activity. All increasing."

She hadn't made it sound like a good thing. "And this is bad..." McKay deduced.

Jennifer nodded slowly. "If it keeps increasing, his body isn't going to be able to handle it. Not after two weeks of captivity. Hell, not after two weeks at a health spa." She shook her head, frowning, as if it was a problem she could solve.

The same way McKay had been trying to look at it. "Why is it doing that?" he asked, looking down at the diagnostic on his screen. For some reason something about it, and what Keller was saying, it seemed linked.

"Not sure," she answered. "Maybe it's just the effort involved in... whatever's happening in there."

"They're fighting," McKay translated, frowning down at the screen. "Sheppard and this machine. Maybe they're fighting."

"But... it's a machine..." Keller reminded him. She didn't sound convinced. More hopeful than anything. "I mean, a machine can't..."

She was considering it. "It's an Ancient machine," he told her. "And if I'm right, it's the basis of Replicator mind probing. It's probably an AI. Which means..."

He looked down at his screen. Which meant there was a reason the power usage had been fluctuating so much. That had been what was annoying him: the fact that a machine, that had been set on the same settings for two weeks, had been using varying amounts of energy. He should have seen it earlier. But like Jennifer, he had forgotten what he was dealing with.

"I'm right," he announced, staring down at the screen with a new appreciation. "John and the machine... they're battling it out for control."

Keller stood up straight, taking a deep breath. "If you're right... I don't know what's going on in there, Rodney, but his mind is slipping. If you're right, he's losing."

"We need to get in there," he told her, trying to ignore what she was saying. It was pretty easy. The idea that anything could defeat Sheppard was unthinkable. Especially when it was his own mind.

"Woolsey sent off for that virtual reality unit, that we used when the Colonel touched the crystal. They'll be here soon, and we can -."

"I don't think they'll be here soon enough," he interrupted. "Do you really think they will be?"

She paused, but her lip. She looked like she was about to break: Rodney didn't blame her. He didn't think she had slept since Sheppard had been found.

And then she sighed, shook her head, looked down. "No. I don't."

"I don't get it," he told her. "It's supposed to be keeping him alive. It's not supposed to be killing him."

"Unless he knows it's not real."

That made McKay pause. "Makes sense. I mean, he wouldn't be fighting it if he thought it was real. Which means it has him trapped." He frowned. "Which doesn't change a thing. Even if that thing's keeping him trapped. We still need to get in there, and we can't wait for the Daedalus."

"No."

McKay's jaw dropped, and he looked around at Jennifer. She had gone pale. "You're not doing it, Rodney. You can't!"

"I'm not doing anything!"

She stormed round and snatched his laptop away. "No, but you're thinking of it. I know that face. You want to use the second interface. Rodney, that killed a man!"

"I'm not going to do it!" McKay snapped, looking away. "You think I don't know it's stupid and dangerous!"

Keller studied him, and then leaned back. "Promise me."

He glared up at her, and she met his gaze, not caring. "Promise me, Rodney."

"Fine!" he bit back. "I won't do anything stupid and dangerous! Happy?"

She shook her head. "No." And then she sighed, crossing her arms. "Try to get some sleep, Rodney."

And she turned and left, walking off without ever looking back. McKay watched her go, and then looked slowly back at Sheppard. Sheppard, who was lying there, so still, struggling in the biggest fight he had ever faced. Sheppard, who was stubborn, and determined, and who was fighting himself. McKay couldn't think of a worse opponent, for anyone.

"Screw this!"

* * *

When the doors to his lab opened, Zelenka had to admit, McKay had been the last person he expected to walk through them. He had thought the man was glued to his seat in the infirmary.

"Rodney?" he asked with some amusement, looking up from the Ancient blueprints. On the other side of the bench, Vaiko looked around, while Radek continued, "Did Dr Keller finally kick you out?"

"Have you found anything useful?" the Canadian asked in a snarl, confirming Radek's suspicions. He chuckled to himself and looked back down as McKay joined them.

"Do not know," he answered with a shrug. "We think we know how we will be able to attach the VR unit when it arrives, but beyond that... We will have to study the machine itself, but we may be able to fix it."

"How long would that take?" McKay demanded, looking up with hope.

Vaiko shook his head, answering. "We do not know. Not without studying the device." He frowned. "A week, perhaps, from what I remember. If we have the right parts."

"Too long," McKay muttered. Zelenka frowned up at him, getting the first inkling that something was wrong. But before he could mention anything, McKay pulled the Ancient notes closer and pointed at a place on the blueprints. "Is this the second interface?"

"Yes, but it is damaged. That would be the hardest part to restore."

"Hmm," McKay answered, pulling the notes even closer. And then he looked back. And Zelenka knew his gut had been right when he saw guilt in the scientist's eyes. "Sorry about this."

Radek barely even saw the blue before he saw the black.

* * *

When Jennifer heard the infirmary doors open again, she sighed and let her head drop. No doubt it was Rodney returning from wherever he had wandered off to for an hour. The man just couldn't stay away, and she was worried. More worried than she should be when she had to worry about Colonel Sheppard and the stress of that machine on his body.

She had had enough. She got to her feet and moved to the door of her office, bracing herself for what would no doubt be an epic argument. How had Carson dealt with any of this? And why did he have to be back on Earth?

"Rodney!" she called as she entered the infirmary proper. He was back by Sheppard's bed, dumping a pile of stuff on the chair he had been sitting in. She stopped what she had been about to say, and frowned. "What is that?"

McKay stood up straight, too rigid for this to be a good thing. "Rodney?" she asked carefully.

"Uh, yeah, I had an idea..." he muttered. "Sorry, but I don't think..." He looked down at his hands, his back still to her. "I don't think I'll be able to keep my promise."

"Rodney, whatever you're planning -."

She cut off as he turned around, and she finally got a look at what was in his hands. She took a step back. "Rodney..."

"I'm really sorry..." he whispered. "But I need to do this."

And he lifted the Wraith stunner and fired.

* * *

Rodney really hoped they would forgive him.

And he really, really hoped he wasn't going to be fired for this.

But in the end, after walking around, debating the plan in his head, going over it again and again, he had decided it didn't matter. John Sheppard's life was worth more than his career.

He decided not to listen to the voice in the back of his head, asking him if it was worth more than his life.

"I've never had to do this," he muttered as he worked on the second interface. He glanced over at Sheppard. "Never had to risk my life to save yours." He paused. "Okay, so I have. But not like this. Not when you've just been lying there, slowly dying. Not when I've had to watch it..."

He paused, put the interface down. "And here I am going all sappy. Dammit, you're an idiot, Colonel. You know this is all your fault!"

Well, that didn't make him feel better. He gave a growl. "Why on earth would you make me your friend? You have the stupidest taste in friends." Somehow he found the ability to chuckle. "I mean, just look at our team! There's me, cranky, bad with people, which is all we meet... I'm mean, condescending. And then you picked Teyla, little miss Athos... okay, so she's pretty normal once you get past the alien stuff. But Ronon? Even for an alien..." He shook his head. "In any other world..."

He chuckled again, grabbed the interface leads. "And then there's you. Colonel Kamikaze. Why the hell did you do something so stupid as to walk into the Masarian lair and try to rescue me single-handedly? Why not go back to the gate, radio for help? You wouldn't be lying in this damn infirmary if you had." Any desire to chuckle suddenly left him, making him angry, and bitter.

"You could have just left me there. But you didn't." He sighed, and held up the leads. They looked ready. Not that he really knew. "Well, guess it's time to repay the favour. Please don't kill me if this doesn't work."

He attached all four leads to his head, two on his temple, two over his, wincing as they engaged, and pulled at some his hair. But he did his best to ignore it, taking a deep breath, and he reaching out for the datapad.

"McKay!"

Rodney jumped and turned to look at the infirmary doors. Ronon and Teyla had just walked in, looking shocked, suddenly anxious and pale. He shook his head at them, eyes wide.

"I'm going in there!" he cried out, snatching up the datapad. "And you can't stop me!"

He hit enter, and the world around him dissolved.

* * *

Something had changed.

John wasn't sure what, or why, or any of those stupid questions. All that mattered was that it had. He could feel the change, the addition of some new element, or the deletion, a _change_ of some or any description. He could feel it, like a pressure on his skin, or in his mind, a change in the air. Something was different.

He lifted his aching head and opened puffy eyes to look around the dark, retched room. The men had gone. Funny. He swore they had been there a second ago, laying into him with fists and bars and all the while he was sitting there screaming in his head that none of this was real.

Mostly in his head.

He was getting distracted.

He lifted his head completely, letting it loll back on his neck as he tried to survey the room. But no, it was completely empty.

He let loose a chuckle, which quickly turned into a cough, which he tried to smother before a rib went through a lung wall. If it hadn't already.

"I know you're out there," he whispered hoarsely. It didn't matter. The thing would hear him. It could always hear him.

A pressure on his mind – a different type, one he could recognise – told him his... mental self, for lack of a better description, had appeared. He sat rigidly, not looking around.

"What is it?" he asked with a blood soaked tongue and dry lips. How long had it been? No, more distractions. He pushed past the fogginess. "Something's different."

The other him growled, walked forward. John couldn't stop the shiver as it touched him. "What are they doing now?" it asked, the touch of panic in its voice making Sheppard smile slightly.

"No idea. Maybe..." He winced. Talking hurt. "Maybe if you tell me who they are, I can let you know."

"Nice try," it told him dryly, coming to face him. "It doesn't matter. They have to find this place first. And your mind truly is a rabbit warren. A dark rabbit warren at that." It cocked its head, lifted an eyebrow. "How are you liking the hospitality?"

John shrugged and immediately regretted it. "At least they're more talkative than the white walls," he told it before he had to take a deep breath. "Think I would have gone mad in there."

"I can always put you back."

John grinned, knowing it didn't reach his eyes. Though he doubted the thing could really see his eyes under all the swelling. "If you were going to, you would have. My guess is you can't. My guess is something went wrong. Otherwise I wouldn't have escaped."

"You call this an escape?" it asked with amusement, looking around. John just nodded. It scoffed. "You know what was truly an escape, John Sheppard. That world you fought tooth and nail to get out of. Now there was a holiday."

"It wasn't real," he reminded it, trying to keep it distracted. He knew, he could tell... whatever had changed, it was getting closer. "This isn't real."

"What does that matter?" it demanded. "In there, you didn't hurt. Well, no more than an ordinary human. You didn't have constant fear, constant worry, stress. You didn't need to hate, to fight, to worry." It shook its head. "If you could remember the pain you've been through, John. Your losses, even when you won. The amount of times you've been hurt."

"But I can't." He said it with a snarl, with hate. "And that tells me that even if I did remember it, I'd go back. Otherwise you wouldn't care if I remembered or not."

"True. But never mind. With time, you'll accept that world anyway."

"I won't."

The thing eyed him, looked him in his eyes, for a long time. And then it shrugged. "Yes you will. Because I have all of time to make you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a pest to take care of."

And it disappeared, leaving John alone in the chair and with his thoughts.

For all of two seconds.

"Please tell me this is not where it's kept you this whole time!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Sooo... I'm a little distracted right now, people are cheering and watching State of Origin (Australian Rugby Union... I think - not so good on the union vs league thing...), and I'm trying to think of a good note to put here, because I love chatting, and I'm coming up empty... So I guess just... have fun with this chapter... second last one... Wow, this has gone quick! But it is a fair long one!

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* * *

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Chapter 12

Ronon gently placed Jennifer on the bed, determined to knock McKay about next time they sparred for stunning her.

If he ever had the chance to spar the scientist again.

He turned back to where Dr Peters was flashing a light in Rodney's eyes. The nurses had called him off his down time to replace Jennifer until she woke up. And judging by the man's reactions, it wasn't good.

Ronon walked over to the beds separated by only a few feet. Teyla was standing in between, avoiding all the wires, looking down at Sheppard. She was holding his hand. She liked to do that. He wondered if Sheppard could feel it.

She looked up as he approached, and dropped her grip. "I cannot believe he would be so foolish," she breathed, glancing over at Jennifer.

"Yes you can," Ronon told her. "Are Zelenka and Vaiko on their way up?"

"Yes," Peters answered for the Athosian. "Someone finally got the door open. They were fine, just stunned." He walked over to join them. "Dr McKay seems to be in much the same state as Colonel Sheppard. Somewhere between asleep and unconscious."

"And there is nothing we can do?" Teyla demanded. She looked down at Sheppard. "There is no way we can get in there also?"

"Whoa, no!" Peters answered, shocked. "Look, I'm going to be blunt. Unless Dr McKay has some genius plan, he's as stuck in that... world, as Colonel Sheppard is. Unless we get a miracle, they're... they're..." The doctor gave a growl. "Going in is suicidal, Teyla. Don't be fooled by McKay."

The man looked around at his patients, and then sighed. "I'm sorry. But if there had been something we could do for them, we would have done it already. Maybe, if they last until the interface gets here, you might be able to help. But considering what happened to the other man who used the second interface... Dr McKay is likely not going to survive this."

Peters wandered away, shaking his head. Ronon just caught Teyla's gaze, and nodded. "If we find a way, we'll help them," he promised her. "And we're not giving up. This is Atlantis. Miracles happen every day."

* * *

"Please tell me this is not where it's kept you this whole time!"

John jerked his head upright at the unfamiliar voice behind him. The astonished, loud, panicked unfamiliar voice.

"Who's there?" he demanded, not liking this new element. Was this just his own mind playing tricks on him again? He tried to look round, to see if a glance would tell him, but he couldn't see the owner of the voice.

"John, it's me," the voice said, quickly losing its volume. Footsteps told him it was rushing around to see him, and he jerked his head around to face it.

His eyes caught sight of a man, shorter than himself, and a little rounder, fading hair and wide eyes –

_He knew the man standing over him, knew that guilt-ridden face, those wide eyes under that thin, fair hair. Knew that build, that hand still shaking in his face... He knew this man. He just..._

"This is another trick," he blurted out, looking around for his double. "This is... this isn't real."

"John, it's me, McKay!" the man said, taking a step back. "Rodney McKay... God, look what it's done to you..."

"McKay?" John shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "Atlantis?"

"Yes, from Atlantis..." The man swallowed. "You don't remember me?"

"I don't know..." John admitted slowly. His head dropped. "I can't... my head hurts..."

He was drifting off again. He needed to stay awake. He jerked his head up. "Is this real?"

"Um..." the man – McKay, was it really McKay? – "Depends which bit you mean. I'm real. Everything else around you is fake. But I'm real."

"How do I know?" John demanded, licking his lips and wishing he hadn't when they cracked. "How do I tell?"

"Dammit, this interface was meant to..." McKay shook his head, and raced forward. "Because I'm going to get you out of here. Just like you did for me."

He reached forward to touch the manacles, to get them undone. John watched, hoping this man could get him out of here. And he watched as the man just touched the metal with a single fingertip.

Pain, shock, like electricity, coursed through him, and he screamed, beyond cracking his teeth to control the satisfaction of the men torturing him. It ended quickly, though not quickly enough and the next thing he knew, he was sitting limply in the chair, breathing heavily, and McKay was several feet back, holding his hand like he had caused it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

John lifted his heavy head, despair in his gut as he recognised his double's voice. McKay moved a lot faster, jerking around to face the thing, looking between the two of them like he had seen a ghost.

"Oh not again," he groaned, moving closer to John. "Let him go!"

"Not happening," the double told him, moving closer as well, but slower. Almost as if he were stalking prey. "And you shouldn't have come here."

McKay turned around and raced for John, leaning down and touching his arms, careful not to touch the metal. His skin bristled, but it didn't hurt. And he found himself staring McKay right in his scared eyes.

"Remember, John! You've got to remember me, and Ronon and Teyla, and Atlantis. You're in Atlantis right now, in the infirmary. You're safe, but this thing is killing you! Ronon and Teyla, they saved you from _this_ place, just like you saved me from one like it. Remember that, John! Remember us getting cut off on that god forsaken planet. Remember me getting caught, because you were pinned down! Remember how you fought them off, and tried to come after me! Remember how you found me, in that damn room, remember -."

Suddenly McKay was hurtling backwards, and his double was standing in front of him, grinning madly, evil in his eyes. John's breath caught. "McKay, get out of here!"

Over the other side of the room, McKay was struggling to get up. But he still managed to shake his head. "No. I'm not leaving you again! I already did that once, and this is where it led!"

The double chuckled, and began to march over to McKay. "Brave words, doctor, but you're an idiot." It glanced back at Sheppard. "Both of you. Even if you wanted to leave, you can't. Not before I kill you. You shouldn't have interfered."

"The hell I shouldn't have!" McKay snarled, getting to his feet faster than he looked like he could. The double was surprised too, even more so when it found a fist being slammed into its face.

McKay raced forward again, reaching John while the double was just regaining focus. "Remember, John! Remember Atlantis!"

"I don't even know what Atlantis is!" John snapped back, feeling desperate.

McKay actually snarled. "Atlantis is this!" And he slammed his palm into Sheppard's chest, over his heart, angry enough to make it hurt. "Atlantis is in here! And you know what else is in here? One stubborn son of a bitch!"

The double reached them, growling loudly, grabbing McKay by his shirt and shoving him backwards and down. McKay grunted as he hit the floor, but he looked up at John, even as he scooted away from the double. "You've never given up before John, don't you dare start now!"

* * *

"What is going on?" Teyla demanded, glaring at Dr Peters. Both Sheppard and McKay were in trouble, machines beeping all around them. Only seconds ago, Sheppard had gone rigid, and now he was twitching uncontrollably. McKay was as still as he had been for the past half hour, but his heart rate was skyrocketing.

"I don't know, I'm not psychic!" Peters snapped as he worked on McKay. "Something's going on in there, but I don't know what! You both need to get out of the way though!"

"Like hell!" Ronon snarled. "We're not going anywhere!"

Teyla agreed, and she grabbed John's arm again, gripping as tight as she could. "John, hear me! Fight this. Whatever this is, fight it!"

* * *

Sheppard went still, felt his breath catch, felt the barest sensation on his right arm, so bare it was like a memory. But he knew it was there. Really there.

McKay came to a sliding halt at his feet, groaned and tried to get up. John looked up at his double, keeping that barest sensation on his right arm in mind. "Stop it!" he snarled, moving as far forward as he could will tied to this damn chair. "Dammit, stop it!"

But his double just sneered, moved closer and picked McKay up. "Stop it!" Sheppard shouted. That sensation, on his arm. He needed to remember that, because those... _feelings_ had been there the whole time and hadn't led him wrong yet. But mostly, he needed to remember that, because it reminded him of something.

It reminded him of a soft voice kicking his butt with hard sticks, of a warm face and a laugh. It reminded him of danger, and running, and fighting and winning. It reminded him of a short woman with dark skin and lively eyes.

It reminded him of family.

"Stop it!" he ordered, looking up just as his double was about to throw McKay again.

And to his shock, his double stopped.

"How did you..." it demanded, before snarling. "No. No, you are not doing this!"

Pain flared in his head, and John winced, giving the thing the chance it needed. It threw McKay, hard and fast, with a strength John himself had never possessed. And McKay didn't get back up from where he landed.

He had to push past the pain. He had to, for all their sakes. For his own, and for McKay, and for that sensation of family latched onto his arm.

"I said, stop it!"

* * *

"What are you doing?" Jennifer's voice suddenly asked from behind. Ronon spun around to see her, still dazed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Dr Keller!" Peters cried with relief. "They're both... I don't know..."

"Not you," the small woman answered, slipping off the edge. Ronon caught her before she collapsed. "Teyla. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," the Athosian answered defensively. "Am I doing something wrong?" She went to remove her hand.

"No, stop!" Keller shouted, lurching forward, Ronon struggling to keep a hold on her. "Keep holding on. I think... something changed when you touched him. I think he's fighting harder."

Ronon shared a look with Teyla, and then quickly let go of Keller, leaving her to stumble for the edge of the bed, still suffering from the stunner blast. And, after only a seconds pause, he too grabbed hold of Sheppard's arm.

"Come on, buddy. If you can hear this... fight!"

* * *

A second sensation, and now his double was staring at him, paused in the middle of the room, halfway between him and McKay. And it looked scared.

A second sensation, on his left arm this time. And it reminded him of tallness, of thick hair, and loyalty, and strength. He looked down at his arms, as if he could see the hands on them if he tried hard enough to know they were there.

"What are you doing?" his double demanded, turning back to him now, forgetting McKay. "You're not doing that."

"The hell I'm not," Sheppard whispered. He bunched his muscles, and yanked hard on his arms. And, beyond all logic and reason, his arms came free. He stood up, took a step forward.

Only to have a body slam into his.

He grunted as he crashed back into the chair, but there was no way he was getting back in that thing. No way he was letting himself be trapped again.

He shoved back, and his double moved back a few feet. John got up again, twice as fast this time, and only just avoided being tackled back into the chair by moving to the side.

His double used the chair to stop itself, turned to face him, murder in his eyes. "You can't do this," it warned. "I'm protecting Atlantis, by keeping you here."

"No, you _were_ protecting Atlantis. But I'm back there now. I'm safe. I know I am!" Because that family clinging to his arms would keep him safe. Just like he would do for them. "And it's time you left."

He had hoped that would work. But his double just sneered. "It's going to take more than that to get rid of me John Sheppard," it told him quietly, turning to face him. "And you haven't got it."

"We'll see," Sheppard told him, moving lightly on his feet. It felt like every injury to his body had disappeared. He put his hands up.

Next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, groaning, and blinking blood out of his eyes.

He rolled over to find an amused double staring down at him. Sheppard gave a growl, staggering to his feet.

The thing rushed in again, but this time John was ready. He blocked the fist headed his way, shocked at the strength behind it, but following it up with his own hook. His fist slammed into the thing's face, drawing blood and the weirdness of punching his own face hit him. Again.

He stumbled over that. Again. He had done this before.

And that cost him a broken rib, as the double replied with a bone crushing hook to his side.

He bent over, winded, and then focused again on those sensations on his arms, that sensation of family, using it, finding strength, enough to slam an uppercut into the double's abdomen.

He didn't stop there this time, following it up with a hard kick, smashing his bare foot into its face, breaking its nose and sending it flying backwards from where it had been hunched over. He moved with it, moving in close, his right fist already moving for a hard punch.

It blocked the punch, spinning him around, catching his ribs with two sharp punches, and at least cracking a second rib. John fell to one knee, gasping for breath. And then even that wasn't working as the double grabbed his neck and squeezed.

Air cut off and he grabbed at the arm, scrabbling at it with fingers. He tried not to panic, knowing that was rule number one. Don't panic. No, get angry.

He found his feet with some difficulty, and then, desperate, he launched upright.

His head rammed into the thing's face, and it let go, at least enough for John to take a deep breath, reach up to grab it's neck, and pull.

It landed hard on the ground in front of him, but apparently it didn't feel pain, because almost immediately, it lifted its legs and shoved Sheppard back hard in the chest.

He fell back, tried to get up as quickly as the double had, but he was human, not a thought. It launched itself at him, punching him hard in the face, once, twice, three times -

A blur rushed past and tackled the double to the ground, shoving at its face with tight fists and a panicked look.

John stumbled to his feet, even as his double slammed a hook into McKay's face and sent him sprawling.

Growling, John rushed in, grabbing at the thing's shirt and punching it as hard as he could in its broken nose. For the first time it cried out, though with anger, not pain, and leapt up enough to catch Sheppard with a flying elbow.

He fell to the side, dazed, but conscious enough that he knew this wasn't going to work. Despite being a product of his own mind, his double was too strong. Or maybe it was because it was a product of his own mind.

He crawled backwards, even as it got to its feet, wiping blood from around its mouth. McKay too crawled away, looking exhausted. How had he commanded it before? How had he made it stop?

Those sensations were still on his arms, as strong as ever, and he was keeping focused on them. But still, here he was, trapped in his own mind.

"McKay, how did I get here?" he asked softly, trying to regain his focus.

"You want to talk about this now?" the man demanded. "Like, right now?"

His double chuckled though. "Don't you remember them putting the leads on, John?" it demanded. "You fought tooth and nail, even half unconscious and incoherent. You know what they were doing, and you used it against them, when the fighting failed. And then you fried the mind of the man who was supposed to be spying on you. The machine was broken, he didn't have the control he was supposed to, and you killed him from the inside. Don't you remember?"

"No," John admitted, feeling a little nauseated by that. "But it means I have some control."

"Over other people, sure," the things shrugged, before grinning. "Not over me."

John grinned. "We'll see. McKay, picture Atlantis for me."

"Why?"

"Just do it," he snapped.

"Don't!" the double cried, but it was too late. McKay licked his lips, and let his eyes glaze over.

Something changed. Not much, not anything visually or audibly discernable, at least not by John. But his double stopped. It went still, except for a slight quiver, a slight tremble. McKay's eyes closed, slowly, almost as if he were sleeping, and the very air shivered. A hum began. A hum he recognised. A hum he recognised from the depths of a deep dark lake that didn't scare him. Only this time it was more than a memory. It was real.

Taking that, taking that hum in his head, his heart, his veins, taking those sensations on his arm and using them to strengthen his own mind, his body, his everything, he focused his mind on only one thing.

"What are you doing?" his double demanded, taking a single step forward. Sheppard just grinned, and imagined the room with one less inhabitant.

"I'll see you, McKay."

"No!" McKay shouted, eyes flinging open. And then he disappeared into thin air, leaving John alone with his twin.

* * *

McKay bolted upright, the leads slipping from his head, gasping for breath, while around him the myriad of people jumped. Someone even gave a small scream.

"Rodney!" Keller cried, turning to him. "How did you...?"

"It wasn't me," he answered, sliding off the bed. His legs gave out, and he fell to the floor, weak and shaking. "John, he shoved me out!"

He staggered on his knees over to John's bed and grabbed the colonel's arm, just above where Teyla held Sheppard's wrist. He nodded at his teammates, before turning to stare at John, struggling to his feet. "He's fighting," he told everyone quietly. "Come on John!"

* * *

The room seemed oddly silent with McKay gone.

The double was still just standing there, looking stunned and shocked. John remained on the ground, just as shocked and stunned that it had worked.

Suddenly the double growled, and John leapt to his feet, taking a few steps back. "That won't work for you!" the other him snarled, stalking forwards. "You can't escape me!"

"I know," John admitted, his back hitting a wall. "I'm just going to have to beat you instead."

"Beat me?" it laughed. "I've been the one beating you for the entire time I've been in your head!"

"Times change," Sheppard reminded it, focusing on that hum, and that sensation on his arms, all willing him on, all keeping him standing when every bit of him ached; from his very brain to his toes, all throbbing with exhaustion. "Besides, I don't give up. I don't need to know my name, or my job, or where I live to know who I am. What I am."

And he raced forward, catching his double by surprise and tackling it to the ground. That hum grew inside of him, making his blood pound, and he punched his twin face with as much strength as he could muster.

But the twin's face moved, and his fist struck the hard ground instead. He cried out as he felt his hand break. But he moved past it, concentrating on that hum, clenching his teeth as he used his other hand to slam a fist into that twin face, using its own momentum against it.

The double snarled up at him, hand shooting up to grab his shirt. John saw stars as his forehead hit its, and he fell back, moving away.

* * *

"Jennifer!" Teyla cried, moving back, though never letting go of John's wrist. She indicated his hand. "It's broken."

Keller moved around, jaw dropping. And then she grabbed the sheet, pulling it down to reveal John's naked torso. His freshly bruised, dark naked torso.

"What the hell..." Woolsey demanded, having shown up five minutes ago. The entire infirmary was packed with people, not just doctors and nurses, but soldiers and scientists, all worried. "What's happening?"

"I think... This is a good sign," Keller breathed. Before anyone could wonder just how this was good, she continued, quickly. "His mind is coming closer to reality." She glanced at the machines, beeping and racing, before looking at John's face, which was starting to show signs of bruising. "It's not good for his body, but in terms of the mental battle... he's starting to win."

He stumbled to his feet once he had some distance, deciding quickly he needed a new tactic. A smarter tactic. Though how he was going to outsmart his own thoughts, he had no idea.

He stood his ground, wheezing slightly, and determined not to cough, because no doubt it would be blood, and he just did not want to know. His double was also getting to his feet, a dark look on its face as it turned to stare at him.

"How do you think you're going to win this, John?" it demanded, wiping away blood. "You can't beat me in a fight."

"Depends on the type of fight," he snapped back, getting ready. But what could he do? What had he already done to himself?

The other him snorted at that, taking a few menacing steps forward. It cocked an eyebrow. "You're doomed to fail," it told him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And again it rushed at him.

John sidestepped, avoiding the attack, moved away, knowing that wasn't the way he was getting out of here. "Why's that?" he demanded. "Because you say so? You of all people should know I'm not one to listen to my own head when it tells me to give up."

"And how would you know who you are?" it asked slyly. "I took your memory."

"No, you hid it. And I'll find it, somewhere. But it doesn't matter." He shook his head. "I don't need my memory to tell me I'm not giving up. I haven't given up yet. Not when you shoved me in that fake world, not when you shoved in that nothing cell... Not when you tried to torture me into submission."

He licked his lips, and called on that hum again, like his own personal drug, like magic, making him stronger. And he imaged a door. "I know who I am, and I know what's real."

"You don't know what's real!" It snapped, fists clenching, taking a step forward. "You have no clue! Why do even try to say that!"

He kept picturing that door, willing it into existence. "I'm real. Who I am, is real. McKay's real. These feelings on my arms are real. And Atlantis. Atlantis is real."

The door suddenly sprung into being, right behind the double, and John tried not to grin in victory.

"You don't even know what Atlantis is!" the double cried. "You have no idea, no memory of it. You don't know what it is!"

"Yes I do," Sheppard told it calmly. "I know it's real. I know it matters. I know I'm going back there. And most importantly, I know it's home."

* * *

"His heart rate is getting dangerously high," Peters told them all, sharing a look with Keller, his voice worried. "If it keeps going, he's going to have a heart attack."

"Least of his worries if this keeps going!" McKay snapped. "Come on, John! Kick that thing out already!"

* * *

"I've known it's home since I woke up in that fake world!" John told it, stalking forward. "It's always been there, just out of sight, just out of reach. But it's there! And I'm getting back there!"

He willed the door open, and the room filled with light. The double spun, taking a step away from the open door, from the white cell, from the nothingness of existence that existed somewhere in John's head. "No, what are you doing!"

John didn't answer. Not verbally anyway. No, he rushed forward, tackling the double, and sending them both through into the white door.

The door slammed shut behind them, and a click told them both it was locked.

John kept his double pinned, using all his strength. "I can't kick you out. Because _this_, my mind, is you," he told it. "But I can shove you away, where you can't do any damage. I can send you back where you came from. Even if I have to drag you there myself."

And suddenly the floor dropped away, and they were both falling, into the bottomless abyss of Sheppard's own mind.

* * *

Wow... was that exciting or what!


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Oh my, last chapter... this is a sad and momentous occasion... did I spell momentous right? It doesn't look right... oh well, it's not like I'm a writer or anything, lol...

Anyways, thanks for sticking in there guys, sorry I'm a sucky replier, but I love you all anyways for all the comments you've made! This chapter is dedicated to EVERYONE!

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* * *

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Chapter 13

The machines beeped like crazy, and everyone in the room started talking, making more noise than the infirmary had seen before. Peters called for a defibrillator, tried to shove Ronon, of all people, aside, trying to get to the flat-lining Sheppard.

"No, stop!" McKay shouted, releasing one arm from Sheppard's to point at Peters. "Just... wait!"

"Rodney, his heart has stopped," Keller reminded him, somehow sounding gentle and forceful at the same time.

He looked at her, staring her right in the eye. "Remember the last time..." he told her. "Just... please. This is either going to work or it's not. And CPR isn't going to make a difference. But apparently we, me, Ronon, Teyla, we might."

She held his stare for a few more seconds, before nodding, backing away, and sending Peters a look that told him to do the same. And the infirmary fell into silence again, except for the rapid beating of the machine that told them that Sheppard was dead.

* * *

They fell.

Sheppard wasn't really sure how fast, or how far, or why they were falling at all. But the double was clawing at him, struggling to hold on, and it was making him fall faster and faster. And he couldn't fall so far that he couldn't find his own way home. Or he'd rather not.

He spun in the air, which was harder than it sounded. He bunched his stomach muscles, ignored his pounding heart, and kicked out with all the strength he had left. Which wasn't much.

The double slipped away slightly, his nails leaving marks on Sheppard's arms from where it was holding on so tight. "If I'm going down, you're coming too!" it screamed at him over the whistling air and that omnipresent hum.

"Didn't know my own mind..." he grunted, calling on his strength one last time. "Could be... so... vindictive!"

And as he shouted it, he kicked out again, his bare feet finding the double's head. The impact jarred his ankle, but he saw its eyes roll, saw its neck snap nearly to breaking. And finally, finally, it let go, sailing away through the white abyss. It gave a scream as the white swallowed it up.

Which wasn't much of a relief when he was left alone in the white, falling. Not so fast now, but he was still falling.

He licked his lips, and closed his eyes. He hoped this worked. But it had been able to transport him before. He hoped it could now.

He fell.

He took a deep breath, and imagined darkness. Darkness beyond that of his own mind, behind closed eyes. He imagined darkness, like water, around him. He imagined the dark lake that he wasn't afraid of, where Atlantis waited within him, Atlantis and her glorious hum.

_John, can you hear us? John, are you there? Keep fighting John!_

He didn't open his eyes, afraid that would send the voice away, but continued to imagine the dark lake. And the world around him shifted.

He wasn't falling anymore. _John... please, come on... Are you still fighting?_ He was standing on his feet, the pressure of water all around him, though he could still breathe. _Hey, come on buddy, enough's enou..._ The voices surrounded him as well, and he opened his eyes to darkness.

The water didn't disappear. _Colonel... Come on, Colonel... I know you're in there, we're all getting..._

He didn't picture something this time. Didn't think of a name, or a place, or any of those things he had pictured before. No this time, he focused on the hum. Let it build within him, let it bring that heart wrenching feeling of home, of loss and gain, of victory and defeat, of everything that Atlantis was, good and bad. Mistakes and triumphs, of science and battle, of enemies, and mostly of friends.

_John... Colonel... If you can hear me, squeeze my hand._

He couldn't do that, not yet. But he could hear them, and he could feel them, drifting, weaving in and out of Atlantis. He didn't feel anything back, but that hum in him grew, and eventually the voices grew.

_It's only been a week, Mr Woolsey... John, are you waking up yet?_

He grabbed onto that hum and held on tight, determined, knowing it was going to happen, but trying to make it happen quicker.

_Come on, Colonel. We're all here, waiting for you. You can do it._

He knew he could, knew those voices, could start to remember them, could almost find them, point them out. He could feel them inside of him, how they made him feel, and he grabbed onto that. The hum almost screamed in his veins.

"Colonel, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

There was something in his left hand. Did she mean that? He hoped so. He squeezed with it anyway, and there was some relieved laughter.

"Can you open your eyes, John?"

He didn't know. Was he there yet? Should he try? Or would he be disappointed? Would it be a fake reality? Would he know?

Something beeped, not racing, but fast enough that the hand in his squeezed gently. "It's okay, John. We're here."

Another hand squeezed his wrist. He knew this hand, knew its warmth. "Be calm, John. Though a promise of this may sound hollow, I assure you, this is real."

He knew that voice. Knew it wouldn't lie to him. Not about something like this. He shifted his head slightly in the darkness.

"Teyla?"

More relieved laughter, and almost immediately, that hum began dying away. He didn't panic though, didn't worry. He knew what it meant. He knew he was back, knew it had led him back.

He opened his eyes and stared up into three worried blurs. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and even that small act exhausted him. He let his eyes close again, only this time he knew it didn't matter. Because he was home, he was in Atlantis, and he could finally sleep again.

* * *

Keller leaned back slowly, taking a deep breath. Teyla looked up at her, and took her own relieved sigh. This was good. Judging by the huge grin on Jennifer's face, this was good.

"He should be fine," she told them both, smiling at them. She nodded. "I think we're finally out of the woods. He's going to live."

"And his mind?" Teyla asked. "Will that thing have caused much damage?"

"I hope not," Keller admitted. "But we won't know for sure until he wakes up properly. But scans are promising. Though he might have these scars for some time," she told them, reaching out to touch the scar on his left temple. Just one of a dozen the leads had left when they had slipped away from his head a week ago. "But he will probably be traumatised." She shrugged. "Or maybe not, knowing the colonel. But if I'd been trapped inside my own head for that long, I know I would be."

Teyla nodded in agreement. "We will be here for him," she let Jennifer know, sitting down again. "We will be here."

Ronon smiled with her as Jennifer walked away, no doubt to finally get some proper rest. Teyla wondered if she should do the same, and then decided against it. Besides, she had spent so much time in this infirmary in the past two weeks that it was like a second home.

"It worked," Ronon suddenly spoke up. "I can't believe it worked. Just holding onto him."

Teyla shook her head. "I believe it was more than that." She paused. "But I also believe we will never know what more it was."

"There's no way he's going to talk about this," Ronon agreed. Then he paused as well. "Do you think we can both let go now?"

They both looked down at his hand, still clasped around Sheppard's arm. Teyla had to admit, the thought frightened her for a minute. But then she smiled, hopeful.

Ronon took it to mean exactly what it meant. He lifted his hand off Sheppard and sat back.

And their world didn't collapse around them. Sheppard really was back.

* * *

Sheppard had to blink a few times before he realised he was awake.

It didn't help that it was night on Atlantis, and the infirmary was quiet. But he did manage a small smile to himself. He was home. He was back. And it was real.

He shifted his head to look around. Two heads were asleep on his bed, and only one other bed was occupied, by a sleeping man, his leg elevated. No one else was in the room.

"Sergeant Cantwell," he whispered to himself, staring at the man. He remembered. Whatever his double had done, it had been undone. That made his smile turn into a grin, and he licked his lips, taking a deep breath. Which promptly turned into a cough as he aggravated his dry throat.

The heads on his bed sprang up, still half asleep, blinking grit out of their eyes as they turned to look at him. Ronon and Teyla. Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagen. He remembered them.

"Hey guys," he greeted hoarsely. "Couldn't get me a drink could you?"

"Here," Teyla jumped, grabbing a cup from the bedside table. "Only ice chips, but that is all you are allowed."

"I'll grab the doc," Ronon said, his smile wide. "It's good to see you open your eyes, John."

He grinned back, only able to guess how they were feeling right now. He turned to look at Ronon.

"So, did you miss me?" he asked, before frowning. "And reckon I can sit up?"

"Absolutely not!" Keller called out from her office. She looked like she had been sleeping as well. "Not until I check you over."

Teyla fed him an ice chip before he could argue, so he settled with mock glaring. None of them seemed to care, just grinning at him instead. So he grinned back.

"How long was I out?" he asked, looking around as Jennifer pulled out her instruments and started.

"That depends on what you mean," Teyla said slowly, sharing a worried look with Ronon. Sheppard understood instantly, grimacing, remembering. He closed his eyes. In the happiness of finally opening his eyes he had forgotten what had led to this stay in the infirmary in the first place.

"I need to know," he told them quietly, looking down at his hands. "You can't hide it from me."

"It took us two weeks to find you after McKay made it back," Ronon got out in a rush, taking the pointed look from Teyla with squared shoulders. But John hadn't been lying. He needed to know. He needed to know what he had missed. He needed to know, so he could replace fiction with reality.

But what Ronon had said... "Two weeks?" he demanded. "Is that all?" He shook his head. "In... It felt like longer."

They avoided asking questions about that. "Um, three days later is when McKay... did what he did. And it's been nine days since that."

"Nine...!" He couldn't believe that. "It felt... I mean, it passed by so quickly." Nine days. He tried to rub his eyes, tried to rub away the disbelief. But found he couldn't when an IV pulled on one and he found the other in a cast. He stared at the cast. "Did I really break my hand?"

"Somehow," Keller answered, stepping back, finished with her quick examination. "The closer you got to coming back, the more real your injuries got. Rodney told us about you... fighting yourself."

He tried not to flinch. "Yeah. Recurring theme with me." He shook his head. "Where is McKay?"

"He won't come here anymore," Ronon told him, again jumping in before Teyla or Jennifer could tell him not to say anything. "Hasn't since the leads dropped off. He feels guilty."

"I figured that out when he was inside my... my head..." John paused, took a deep breath and winced at the pull on his ribs. "It wasn't his fault."

"You will have to tell him that," Teyla informed him, leaning back in her chair. "Everyone else has tried."

"Yeah, guess I will," Sheppard nodded. His eyes were feeling heavy again. "Think I'm gonna nod off again first though, guys..."

He got a glimpse of Teyla's smile before his eyes slid closed all the way.

"Night, John."

* * *

A week later, and he thought that if Keller didn't release him soon, he would have to make a break for it.

He was feeling a lot better. Physically at least. No more pull on his ribs, and according to the doctors, his fist was nearly healed. It was easy when all his energy went into getting better day after day. After day.

He sighed, and tossed the Sudoku book to the side. He was bored with that already. If only Keller would let him have his laptop, he could catch up on the news. But no, instead, he was forced to ask Ronon and Teyla question after question. After question.

Luckily they didn't ask him many in return.

He leaned back in the bed and sighed again. If he had to admit it, it wasn't the boredom or lack of information that was bothering him. It was McKay. A week, and still no visit. The scientist was harbouring some serious guilt issues.

"How are you feeling, John?" Keller asked as she walked over, smiling. "Thought I'd better ask during the lull."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, knowing she was referring to the line of visitors that seemed to find a need every hour to come and visit. And not just Ronon and Teyla, but Woolsey, Lorne, hell even Caldwell had popped his head in when the Daedalus had arrived.

"Great," he answered. "When can I get out of here?"

"Not yet," she told him, in that tone that suggested she was getting sick of saying those words. "A few more days yet. Just be patient, Colonel. You were... sick, for a very long time."

"Sick. Right." He sat up, not even struggling. "Can I have some shore leave then? Just an hour?" Seeing her about to argue, he conceded, "In a wheelchair? With Ronon and Teyla?"

She paused, and in that second, as if the fates had wanted it, Teyla and Ronon walked into the infirmary. Keller threw her hands up in the air. "Fine. One hour. Any sign of tiredness, and you're straight back here. Anything goes wrong," she added, pointing a finger at him. "You're in here for another week."

"I'll be careful," he promised, grinning at Teyla and Ronon. Jennifer just sighed.

"I'll get you a wheelchair."

She walked off, and John turned to his team, determination on his face. "Where is he?"

* * *

McKay heaved a sigh of relief as he made it to his lab doors without being molested about Sheppard's wellbeing. People hadn't seemed to realise that he didn't know. They just assumed.

Well, they shouldn't. After what he had done...

He opened the doors and walked in, locking them behind him.

"Why so secretive?"

The voice made him jump and spin, shoving himself flat against the closed doors. And there was the person he had been avoiding for nearly three weeks.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he demanded, wondering if he could make it out before Sheppard caught him. But one cock of the man's eyebrows rooted him to the spot.

"Well, nice to see you too," he muttered, wheeling the chair forwarded. "I thought we needed a little chat."

"I really don't think we do," McKay decided, finally getting up the strength to turn. "It's really simple, actually. I nearly got you killed, after you'd saved my life for the umpteenth time. Chat over."

He opened the doors and ran into something solid and Ronon-shaped. "I don't think so, McKay," the Satedan ordered, pushing him back in and closing the doors.

McKay was left gaping at the barrier, stunned but unsurprised that his team was ganging up on him, before turning around and sighing at a clearly amused Sheppard. He felt the nerves rise.

"So, uh... How are you?"

"Fine," Sheppard answered, shrugging. "Completely healed."

McKay snorted and walked forward. "Liar."

"You think so, do you?" John demanded losing his amusement. "How are you doing? I know what you did. I know it was stupid."

"Oh, like you can talk about stupid!" Rodney snapped, storming forward. "You're an idiot! Why the hell did you do it! I mean, you stormed in there, all on your lonesome, took on a whole army."

"And made it all the way to the gate dragging you with me," Sheppard interrupted him. "I know. I remember. That bit anyway."

"It's not an accomplishment!" McKay cried, throwing his hands up. "You... I mean, you stupid, idiotic, suicidal person! You could have died! Hell, you did, you would have if that thing hadn't been programmed not to let you die!"

"I think it was doing a pretty good job doing that," Sheppard reminded him, frowning. "And we're getting off subject."

"Yes we are. You want to talk. It was my fault that you were there, and that you nearly died. My fault that you got stuck in your own damn head! If I had..."

"If you had what?" the man demanded, glaring. "If I'm stupid, then you're arrogant, McKay! I told you, I remember everything before getting you through the gate. I remember a _dozen_ men surrounded you. Not even Ronon can fight off a dozen men, when he's unarmed, and they have guns pointed at him."

He rolled forward. "That mission was doomed from the start. They knew we were there, and they knew we were from Atlantis. They wanted one of us, both of us if they could. It isn't your fault, Rodney!"

"But you got caught rescuing me!" the scientist reminded him.

"Yes. Yes I did," Sheppard agreed. "Like I have time and again. You, Ronon, Teyla, any other Atlantis team, anyone on this base. It happens. You've been caught rescuing me too, remember. Are you going to blame me? I mean, seriously blame me?"

"It doesn't change anything," McKay told him sullenly.

"No," Sheppard agreed, sounding exhausted suddenly. "It doesn't change anything that happened. Nothing will change that you spent nine hours in surgery because of those bastards. It doesn't change that I was stuck in my own head. It doesn't change a goddamn thing. But that doesn't matter. We do our jobs, and we get over it, McKay. I got you out, and you got me out. And that's all that matters."

He grabbed his head, leaned down on his elbow. Suddenly worried, McKay moved forward, grabbing Sheppard's shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," he muttered. "I am going to blame you if Keller keeps me in that infirmary for another week."

McKay laughed before he could stop himself. And then he sighed. "I am sorry, John. You shouldn't have had to go through that."

"It doesn't matter," John told him, leaning back in his wheelchair. He looked pale. "Just like it doesn't matter that I'm sorry about what you went through. We can be sorry that it happened, doesn't mean we caused it. Just that it happened. Now, I think I'm going back to the infirmary to face the wrath of Jennifer. Feel like coming?"

"Yeah," Rodney decided, grabbing hold of the handles. "Guess so." He pushed Sheppard over to the doors, but didn't open them. He paused, took a deep breath. "Are you ever going to want to talk about what happened?" he asked slowly, almost whispering. In the chair, Sheppard went still.

"Are you ever going to want to talk about what happened to you?" he asked.

McKay knew the answer to that. He opened the doors and grinned sheepishly up at Teyla and Ronon. "Uh, guess I should apologise," he told them both. "I've been a bit of an ass."

Ronon just grinned at him. "Yeah, but we've gotten used to it," he told the man, stepping aside. "So, should we detour to the mess hall?"

Sheppard jumped in before anyone could say a word about the infirmary. "Oh, hell yes. Real food sounds great."

Teyla nodded, so Rodney directed the chair to the left instead of the right. "Mess hall it is."

* * *

As Rodney pushed him down the corridors, Sheppard tried not to heave a sigh of relief. He had his team back, all of them. And he was back, in reality, back from his own head.

And around him, Atlantis continued to hum.

* * *

So, what did you think? Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading all the way to here! I guess I'll see you all next time!

Bye!


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